Aching muscles, a bruised body, and nightmares that stop him sleeping.
Maybe he just needs something a little sweeter.
🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧
You two make sense- a baker and a pie enthusiast- not to mention the sex is great. And you're both super fine with it just being sex- you're definitely definitely not looking for anything more.
Every Tuesday starting July 7th.
🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧
Go on, have a slice...
Part 1 - Blueberry
Part 2 - Pecan
Part 3 - Cherry
Part 4 - Pumpkin
Part 5 - Rhubarb
Part 6 - Salted Maple
Part 7 - Strawberry
Part 8 - Lemon Meringue
Part 9 - Peach
Part 10 - Cranberry
Part 11 - Apple
Wanna try a sample?
🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧
nsfw snipped below:
You laugh into his mouth, your hands moving up to his shoulders, feeling the way he shifts under your touch. One hand drags down, feeling the muscles on his back tense up on every slow thrust.
He scatters kisses across your face, lips on your cheeks and nose, across to your ear as he nips at the lobe. He speaks quietly, breath caught, "I missed this-"
He pushes deep, your body arching for him, legs wrapping around his waist. He keeps himself steady, despite how clearly he wants to speed up, making sure you feel every inch of him filling you. He builds a careful rhythm, keeping himself inside you just long enough that you feel used to it before he pulls out again, long strokes, trying not to rush.
"You look-" Your words are cut off as he pushes in again, lifting your body off the mattress slightly, winding any thought out of you.
He kisses your temple, speaking against your skin, "Yeah?"
You smile, catching your breath as you speak quietly, "Look so pretty, Dean."
He kisses you again, voice soft, "Says you-" he speeds up, only slightly, "-prettiest sight I'll ever see-"
🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧🥧
Just comment/message to let me know if you'd like a tag :)
A/N: I'm real mean to him in this one but I made Reader nice to him soooooo it balances out okay.
Summary: Dean Winchester is the cocky, but well-respected Lieutenant at Firehouse 25. He leads by example, but he’s also known to break a few hearts. He’s starting to crave something he’s never had, though. Something stable. Something real.
That’s when he meets you, on a truly terrible day, trapped in a rickety old elevator.
AN: "Smoke eater" — a self-appointed slang term for a firefighter.
Get ready for an AU! Several SPN characters will make their appearances: Sam and John Winchester, Castiel as "Cas Novak," Ellen and Jo Harvelle, Jack Kline, Benny Lafitte, Gordon Walker, Meg Masters, Chuck Shurley, Nick (yes, even him), and more!
Series Tags & Warnings: (18+) There will be a lot of heart, a lot of fun, drama, heartbreak, protective Dean, and even a murder mystery. Rating for eventual smut, perilous situations, and other chapter-specific tags.
🎵 Listen while you read:
The Smoke Eater Playlist: YouTube || Spotify
❤️🔥 Chapters:
ঌ Part 1 - Class and Style -> Podcast Version!
⊹ Part 2 - Lieutenant Winchester
ঌ Part 3 - Got a Hold on Me
⊹ Part 4 - Rocky Road
ঌ Part 5 - Twitterpated
⊹ Part 6 - Just Casual
ঌ Part 7 - Cherry Pie & Lemon Drizzle
⊹ Part 8 - Likewise, Baby
ঌ Part 9 - Do Not Disturb
⊹ Part 10 - Toil and Trouble
ঌ Part 11 - Heart of the Home
⊹ Part 12 - All in the Family
ঌ Part 13 - Boiling Point
⊹ Part 14 - Message in a Bottle
ঌ Part 15 - The Good Part
⊹ Part 16 - Break Down the Gates
ঌ Part 17 - The Real Deal
⊹ Part 18 - V for Vendetta
ঌ Part 19 - Sacrifice
⊹ Epilogue - Easy as Pie
⊹˚ঌ Series complete!
🔥 Bonus One-Shots:
❤️🔥 = smut
Something Real ❤️🔥
Now that you and Dean are officially engaged, you take some much needed time off together for a family vacation. But even with the wedding set for next year, the two of you are still at odds when it comes to one key part of your future together…
ঌ Listen to the podcast version here.
Serendipity
Now that you and Dean are married, you begin to live out the next phase of your dream. However, reality has to check in some time.
🎙️ Podcast Fics:
A "podfic" is where you can listen to the story narrated. Cover image and narration by @talltalesandbedtimestories.
❤️🔥 Listen to Part 1 on YouTube:
Podfic Time – “Smoke Eater” by Zeppelin_SkiesCongratulations to SPN FanFic Pond member zepskies (Zeppelin_Skies on AO3) on her “Leap Year” e
Listen via Google Drive file.
Listen on Spotify.
Listen to the sequel story, Something Real below:
Podfic Time – “Something Real” by Zeppelin_SkiesI loved getting the chance to bookend Zeppelin_Skies “Smoke Eater” series with the narration
⊹˚ঌ Tag List Form || Fic Library Blog ->
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Join My Patreon ⟡ Get early access to new stories, bonus content, and first looks at upcoming stories. Top-tier patrons can even send me requests!
you see your father’s friend for the first time after he spent ten years in prison, and you can’t help but feel attracted to him [part 2]
smut, age-gap, cheating, unprotected sex, mention of suicide, pregnancy, childbirth, (this is long 12,2k)
The next morning you woke up late, almost close to noon. Strong light streamed through the window and your body felt deliciously sore in all the right places. Between your legs there was still a warm, wet sensation, the physical memory of what had happened the night before. You smiled into the pillow for a second before getting up.
You went straight to the shower. You let the hot water fall over your skin, washing away the remnants of him, but not the memory. Once you got out, you changed into comfortable clothes: jean shorts and a loose t-shirt, and then you energetically cleaned your room. You made the bed, put away clothes, swept the floor… as if tidying the space could also organize the whirlwind inside you.
When everything was finally decent, you took a deep breath and went out to the living room, where everyone was.
Your father was sitting on the sofa checking something on his phone. Laura, with a cup of tea in her hand, was chatting animatedly from the armchair. And him… he was standing by the window, arms crossed over his chest, listening. He wore a tight black t-shirt and dark jeans. The moment you entered, his green eyes locked onto you.
You felt a strong flip in your stomach, a mix of nerves, desire, and something sweeter. You swallowed hard and tried to act normal.
“Good morning… or afternoon,” you murmured, heading to the kitchen.
“Good morning, sleepyhead,” your father greeted you with a smile.
You poured yourself a strong coffee and sat on the kitchen counter, legs dangling. From there you could see the living room perfectly. Every now and then, your eyes met his. Short, loaded, secret glances. At one point he ran his tongue over his lower lip and you felt heat rise up your neck.
Minutes later, he approached the kitchen as if nothing, opened the fridge, took out a bottle of water and, instead of returning to the living room, sat on the counter right next to you, so close that his thigh pressed against yours.
Without anyone being able to see from the living room, he placed his large, warm hand on your bare leg, just below the edge of your shorts, and his thumb began to slowly caress your skin.
You smiled at him discreetly and continued drinking your coffee as if nothing was happening, but your heart was racing.
Laura raised her voice from the living room.
“Guys, it would be nice to do something this afternoon like we did yesterday at the beach. I want to make the most of these days before going back home.”
Your father nodded.
“We could go fishing at the lake. It’s a bit far, but it’s beautiful. We’d have to camp one night, set up tents and everything.”
You frowned immediately.
“I hate camping,” you said without thinking twice. “The mosquitoes, sleeping on the ground, the dirt… no thanks.”
He gently squeezed your leg under the counter. When you spoke, he looked directly at you.
“It would be good,” he said in a calm but firm voice. “A change of air. It would do us all good.”
Your father agreed.
“Come on, daughter. We haven’t gone in years, it’s going to be fun, you’ll see.”
You sighed, knowing you were in the minority. His hand remained on your leg, now moving a little higher up the inside of your thigh, caressing with his thumb almost imperceptibly.
“It’s going to be good,” he told you in a low voice, just for you, even though Laura and your father kept talking. “We’re going to have fun. Trust me.”
The double meaning of his words made you bite the inside of your cheek. You nodded reluctantly.
“Fine…” you finally accepted.
Your father got up from the sofa, excited.
“Perfect. Then let’s start preparing everything. We need to check the tents, the sleeping bags, the portable cooler… we’re leaving early tomorrow.”
Laura smiled, clearly happy with the idea. You finished your coffee in silence, very aware of the large hand that still rested possessively on your leg, caressing you slowly under everyone’s gaze… without anyone else knowing.
After your father and Laura went out to the garage to check the camping gear, you two were left alone in the kitchen for a few minutes.
He didn’t remove his hand from your leg. On the contrary, he squeezed it more firmly, sliding his fingers a little higher up the inside of your thigh.
“It’s going to be good,” he repeated in a low voice, looking at you with that intensity that disarmed you. “Trust me.”
You shook your head, still frowning.
“I don’t agree. I hate camping. It’s always cold, even in summer. I end up freezing all night and covered in mosquito bites. I don’t understand why I have to go.”
He smiled sideways, that dangerous smile that sharpened his jaw more. He leaned a little closer to you, speaking almost against your ear.
“Because I’m going to find a way to keep you warm.”
The double meaning of his words, combined with the heat of his hand still on your skin, sent a shiver straight down between your legs. You looked at him with narrowed eyes, but you couldn’t help smiling.
At that precise moment, Laura’s voice came from the garage.
“Honey! Can you come here for a second?”
He sighed, clearly annoyed by the interruption. Before getting up, he quickly took your chin with one hand, pulled you close and gave you a fleeting but intense kiss, gently biting your lower lip.
“Be good,” he murmured against your mouth.
He got up and walked toward the garage as if nothing had happened, leaving you with your heart racing and a silly smile on your lips.
You stayed sitting on the counter a moment longer, processing everything. Then you jumped down and went to your room to prepare your things. You had never really camped before, so you had no idea what to bring. You opted for the most comfortable and practical: black thermal leggings and an oversized gray sweatshirt, a couple of short shorts and basic t-shirts for the day, your toiletry bag with the basics, toothbrush, sunscreen, mosquito repellent and your moisturizer.
You didn’t want to bring too much. You packed everything in a medium backpack and left it ready by the door of your room.
While closing the backpack, you couldn’t stop thinking about his words. The idea of spending the night in a tent, close to him but without being able to touch him freely… and at the same time the possibility that he would find a way to do it anyway, gave you a mix of nerves and excitement.
You smiled to yourself as you looked in the mirror because you knew it was going to be interesting.
The rest of the day was complete chaos. Your father and he spent the afternoon going in and out of the house, checking the car, loading the truck with tents, portable coolers, sleeping bags, flashlights, food and everything necessary for camping. Laura also helped actively: she organized the food, folded clothes and talked non-stop about how excited she was to “do something as a family.”
You, on the other hand, didn’t lift a finger. You spent most of the time in the living room or in your room, pretending to be busy with your phone or reading.
Every time you passed near the truck, you saw him loading heavy things, with the muscles in his arms and back marked by the effort. On more than one occasion your eyes met, but they never managed to talk alone.
Night came and with it your hope of seeing him alone for a while. You stayed awake longer than usual, sitting on the bed with the dim light, attentive to any noise in the hallway. But nothing happened. You heard Laura laughing softly in their room, his deep voice answering something, and then everything fell silent. You went to bed frustrated, with a feeling of emptiness and jealousy churning in your stomach.
The next morning they left early for the lake.
The trip was long and hot. You sat in the back with Laura, answering in monosyllables. He drove and your father rode shotgun. Every now and then you felt his gaze searching for you in the rearview mirror, but it barely lasted a second.
They arrived at the lake around noon. The place was beautiful: a large lake surrounded by trees, with camping areas. While the others set up the tents, three in total: one for your father, one for you, and a larger one for him and Laura, you sat in a folding chair in the shade, with sunglasses and a book you barely read.
When everything was ready and the sun was already setting, they sat around the bonfire your father had lit to prepare dinner: grilled meat, potatoes and some beers.
You were quiet, poking at your food with your fork. He was sitting across from you, next to Laura. You tried not to look at him too much, but it was difficult. At one point, Laura moved closer to him, resting her head on his shoulder naturally and said with a complicit smile, without lowering her voice much:
“Babe, tonight you’re going to have to warm me up… you know how I get when it’s cold. Last night I barely slept because of you,” she laughed softly, clearly referring to the night before at home when they had sex.
It was a completely normal comment between a married couple… but to you it felt like a bucket of cold water. You felt a strong knot in your stomach and a pang of rage mixed with sadness. The image of him fucking her the other night came back to your mind with force. That she said it in front of you, as if nothing, seemed in very bad taste. You felt invisible, out of place, and above all… replaced.
Your expression changed completely, your brow furrowed, your jaw tense, and the silence you kept for the rest of dinner was heavy. You barely answered when they spoke to you and ate mechanically, without appetite.
He noticed. He looked at you several times with a slightly furrowed brow, as if trying to read you. Your father also noticed.
“Are you okay, daughter?” he asked at one point.
“Perfect,” you answered dryly, without looking up from your plate.
Laura seemed not to notice the tension or simply ignored it, and continued talking animatedly about how beautiful the place was. You, on the other hand, didn’t hide your bad mood at all. You got up before dinner was over, muttering that you were cold and that you were going to get into your father’s tent to read for a while.
Later inside the tent you couldn’t sleep. You tossed and turned inside the sleeping bag. Every time you closed your eyes, you felt a pang of jealousy burning in your chest.
Around two in the morning, you left your tent and went to your father’s, whispering so as not to scare him.
“Dad… I can’t sleep. I’m going to go for a walk for a while to clear my head.”
He opened his eyes halfway, sleepy.
“Now? You can’t go alone, it’s dangerous.”
“I’m not going alone,” you lied naturally. “I’m going with him, don’t worry.”
Your father looked at you for a second, still half asleep, and nodded.
“Okay… but don’t go too far. And take a flashlight.”
“Sure.”
You put on a thick sweatshirt over your t-shirt, leggings and your sneakers. You left your cell phone in your tent and took only a small flashlight. You left without making noise.
The campsite was silent. Some dim lights from lanterns and almost extinguished bonfires illuminated the main paths. You walked aimlessly, gradually moving away from the tent area. The air was cool and smelled of pine and damp earth. Despite there being some light, you started to doubt if it was a good idea to go so far, but you kept going anyway.
After about fifteen minutes of walking, you found a nice and quiet place: a small elevation next to the lake, with a large flat rock where you could sit. The water reflected the moon and everything was calm. You sat down, hugged your knees to your chest and sighed deeply, trying to sort out your emotions.
You hadn’t been there ten minutes when you heard a crack of branches behind you. You turned around scared, quickly turning on the flashlight.
“Who’s there?” you asked in a tense voice.
He came out of the darkness, with his hands in the pockets of his jacket. The light from your flashlight illuminated his face. He looked serious, but there was a slight gleam of relief in his eyes.
“It’s me,” he said in a low voice.
You jumped and stood up immediately, your heart beating hard from the fright.
“You scared me!” you exclaimed, clearly angry. “What the fuck are you doing? You almost killed me from fright.”
He took a couple more steps closer, with that calm of his that sometimes drove you crazy.
“I saw you leave the tent. I wasn’t going to let you walk alone out here at night,” he replied in a deep, low voice. “Are you okay?”
You looked at him with a furrowed brow, still upset by the fright and by everything you had felt during dinner.
“No, I’m not okay,” you answered curtly. “And you didn’t have to follow me. I can be alone if I want.”
He didn’t flinch. He stood in front of you, watching you with that intensity that disarmed you even when you were angry, and took his time before speaking again.
You, on the other hand, crossed your arms over your chest, more to protect yourself from the cold than anything else.
“Why did you follow me?” you asked, still angry. “I said I wanted to be alone.”
“Because I don’t like you walking alone at night around here. And because I saw your face during dinner,” he replied bluntly, taking another step closer. “You were upset, very upset.”
You shrugged, trying to look indifferent.
“It’s nothing. I was just cold and sleepy.”
He let out a low laugh, almost a snort, as if he didn’t believe a word.
“Don’t lie to me. Talk to me, love. I love listening to you. It was because of what Laura said, right?”
You bit the inside of your cheek and tried to contain yourself, reminding yourself that what you two had was very recent, that you had no right to demand anything from him.
You took a deep breath before answering.
“It’s not my problem what you say to each other,” you murmured, looking toward the lake instead of at him. “You’re a couple, it’s normal that… you do those things and talk about it.”
There was a silence. He moved closer until he was right in front of you. His presence was imposing and warm.
“But it bothered you,” he stated, not as a question.
“I’m not jealous,” you said quickly, too quickly. “It’s not that. It’s just… it seemed in bad taste that she said it in front of me. As if I wasn’t there, as if it didn’t matter.”
He looked at you in silence for a few seconds. Then he raised a hand and caressed your cheek with the back of his fingers, slowly lowering it to your chin. He gently made you look at him.
“Say it,” he asked in a low voice. “Say what you really feel.”
You closed your eyes for a moment, fighting with yourself. You didn’t want to sound jealous, you didn’t want to seem immature. But the words escaped you anyway.
“It upset me,” you finally admitted, in a lower voice. “A lot. Hearing her say that last night she barely slept because of you… knowing what you did… turned my stomach. I felt… out of place. Invisible.”
When you opened your eyes, he was looking at you with an expression you didn’t expect. There was no guilt. There was something darker, more satisfied. A slow, dangerous smile formed on his lips.
“So you are jealous…” he murmured, almost with delight.
“It’s not funny,” you protested, trying to pull away, but he held you by the waist with his other hand, pulling you against his body.
“I’m not laughing at you,” he said, lowering his voice even more. “I like it. I like that you get jealous. I like knowing you don’t want to share me.”
He pulled you tighter against him. You could feel the heat of his chest through the sweatshirt.
“This is very recent,” you continued, with a trembling voice. “I shouldn’t feel this way. I have no right to…”
“You have every right,” he interrupted, firm but gentle. “Because since I fucked you, you’re no longer just my best friend’s daughter. You’re mine. And I’m yours. Even if I can’t shout it yet.”
His words hit you hard. You felt your knees weaken. He took advantage of your silence to kiss you: first on the forehead, then on the cheek, and finally on the lips. It was a slow, deep, almost comforting kiss. You melted against his mouth, letting him hug you tighter.
When you separated, you rested your forehead against his chest.
“I hate feeling this way,” you whispered.
“I know,” he replied, caressing your back under the sweatshirt. “But you don’t have to hide it from me. I prefer you tell me when something bothers you. Understood?”
You nodded against his chest. He hugged you tighter, completely surrounding you with his large, warm arms.
“Are you calmer now?” he asked, kissing the top of your head.
“A little,” you admitted. “But I still hate camping.”
He let out a low laugh.
“I promised I’d keep you warm, didn’t I?” he whispered against your ear, with that husky tone that gave you goosebumps. “And I intend to keep it.”
You stayed hugged to him for a while longer, listening to the beats of his heart, while the lake continued to shine silently in front of you.
You stayed hugged for a while longer by the lake. Then he spread his jacket over the flat rock and you lay down together to look at the stars. The sky was incredibly clear, full of bright dots. You curled up against his chest, with one leg over his, while he caressed your back under the sweatshirt.
For a few minutes only the soft sound of the water and your breathing could be heard, but the closeness, the heat of his body and the memory of the night before began to take effect. You lifted your head, looked at him for a second and climbed on top of him, straddling his hips.
He raised an eyebrow, surprised but clearly pleased.
“So now you’re the one taking the initiative?” he murmured in a husky voice.
You didn’t answer with words. You leaned in and kissed him hungrily, slowly moving your hips over him. You could feel him hardening under the fabric of his jeans. His large hands ran up your thighs to squeeze your waist, helping you move against him.
The kiss became deeper, more desperate. You took off your sweatshirt yourself and he helped you remove the t-shirt you were wearing underneath, leaving you only in your bra. His warm hands roamed your bare back while you continued moving over his erection, rubbing against him with more insistence.
“Fuck, you’re more addictive than anything,” he growled against your mouth, squeezing your ass with both hands.
You lowered your trembling hands to his belt and began to unbuckle it. He chuckled softly against your lips, a deep, sexy laugh that vibrated in your chest.
“Eager, huh?” he whispered.
You managed to open his pants and slipped your hand inside, wrapping your fingers around his thick, hot cock. It was completely hard. You stroked him slowly, feeling it throb in your palm while you continued kissing him.
He let out a grunt and helped you remove the rest of your clothes. He skillfully took off your bra and then lifted you enough to pull down your leggings and panties in one go. You were completely naked on top of him, the cool night air raising goosebumps on your skin.
“Come here,” he murmured, pulling you close again.
He positioned you better on top of him, aligning his thick cock with your already wet entrance.
You lowered yourself slowly, feeling him open you inch by inch. He was big, and the position made him feel even deeper.
“I know it’s a big stretch. Breathe for me,” he whispered against your ear, holding your hips firmly as he entered you completely.
You moaned softly when you had him all inside. You felt full, stretched, perfect. You began to move, rising and falling on him with a slow rhythm at first.
“Fuck, you’re still so tight for me, baby,” he growled, digging his fingers into your hips.
You increased the rhythm, riding him with more enthusiasm. He looked at you from below, his eyes dark with desire, enjoying every movement of your breasts and the way you bit your lip to not make too much noise.
“No… mhm, ride slower, baby,” he ordered in a husky voice, stopping your hips for a moment. “I want to feel you properly. Like that… yes.”
You obeyed, moving slower but deeper, circling your hips. He raised one hand and pinched a nipple, then lowered it to your clit and began rubbing it with his thumb.
The pleasure was intense. You moaned louder, unable to contain yourself completely.
“Come on, make noise for me… Let me hear you…” he asked, speeding up the movement of his thumb.
You leaned forward, resting your hands on his chest, and began to move faster again. He held you tightly, thrusting up from below, meeting each of your movements.
“Fuck…” you gasped, feeling the orgasm approaching quickly. “I’m going to cum…”
“Do it,” he growled. “Cum on my cock, princess.”
The orgasm hit you hard. You contracted around him, trembling as you moaned his name against his neck. He followed shortly after, thrusting deep and cumming inside you with a low, husky grunt, filling you completely.
You collapsed on his chest, both breathing heavily, sweaty despite the cold of the night. He hugged you tightly, caressing your back and kissing your hair.
“You’re dangerous…” he whispered with a smile in his voice. “You’ve got me completely crazy.”
You stayed on top of him for a while longer, enjoying his heat, his scent, and the feeling of still having him inside you.
Then, with a fluid and possessive movement, he turned you over on the flat rock, positioning himself on top of you.
His large, heavy body completely covered you, pinning you against the cold surface of the rock. He kissed you with intensity, devouring your mouth while his cock, still semi-hard inside you, began to harden again.
“Just one more round,” he murmured against your lips, his voice husky and full of desire. “You can take it, right, princess?”
You could only nod, biting your lip. The words had escaped you and you were sensitive, full of his previous cum, but the idea of him fucking you again turned you on in a dangerous way.
He smiled against your mouth, satisfied with your silent response.
“Good girl.”
He positioned himself better between your legs, spreading them wider with his hips. He pulled out almost completely only to enter you again with one deep, slow thrust. You moaned loudly, digging your nails into his back.
“Like that… take it all,” he growled, beginning to move with a steady, deep rhythm. “I want you to feel every inch.”
His thrusts were strong but controlled, hitting that spot inside you that made you see stars. He kissed your neck, your breasts, gently biting your nipples while he fucked you.
At one point, he looked you directly in the eyes, his gaze dark and filled with something primal.
“I want to fill you again…” he whispered, accelerating the rhythm. “I want you to carry my cum deep inside. Imagine I get you pregnant right here, in the middle of the forest… with my child growing inside you.”
A louder moan escaped your throat. The idea hit you hard: his cum filling you, the possibility of getting pregnant by him. Something inside you ignited brutally. You lifted your hips to meet his thrusts, desperate.
“Yes…” you gasped, unable to contain yourself. “I want you to fill me… I want your baby.”
He grunted, excited by your words. His thrusts became more brutal, deeper.
“Fuck, that’s it…” he muttered, pinning your wrists above your head with one hand while he fucked you harder. “You’re such a slut for me… so desperate to carry my cum.”
He kissed you violently while penetrating you mercilessly. The wet sound of his cock entering and leaving your soaked pussy filled the silence of the forest. You were sensitive from the previous orgasm, but that only made everything feel more intense.
“You’re going to take everything I give you,” he growled against your ear. “And you’re going to stay with my baby inside, do you understand?”
You nodded frantically, moaning uncontrollably. The combination of his words, his weight on you and how deep he reached with each thrust was pushing you to the limit again.
“Say it,” he demanded, fucking you faster. “Tell me you want my baby.”
“I want your baby…” you moaned, almost sobbing with pleasure. “Please… fill me…”
That seemed to break something inside him. He fucked you with brute force, holding you tight while he penetrated you to the bottom again and again. When he reached orgasm, he pushed deep and came with a husky grunt, filling you with hot, abundant streams of cum.
You came almost at the same time, contracting violently around his cock, milking him while you trembled beneath him.
He stayed inside you for a long time, making sure not a drop escaped. He kissed you softly on the lips, on the forehead, on the cheeks, while you both came down from the high.
“Good girl…” he whispered, still buried deep inside you. “Now you’re nicely full of me.”
He hugged you tightly, protecting you from the cold of the night with his hot body, while his cum stayed inside you, exactly where he wanted it.
You stayed a while longer on the rock, with him still inside you, hugging you protectively against his body to give you warmth. He kissed your forehead, your temples and your lips with a tenderness that contrasted with how wildly he had just fucked you.
When he finally pulled out of you, you felt his hot cum dripping between your thighs. He took his t-shirt and cleaned you carefully, then helped you get dressed with patience: first the panties, then the leggings, the t-shirt and finally the sweatshirt. He hugged you again when you were dressed, rubbing your back.
“Better?” he asked in a low voice.
“Yes,” you replied, smiling against his chest. “Much better.”
“We can go back whenever you want.”
You nodded happily, still with slightly shaky legs.
“Let’s go.”
The way back was shorter than you expected. You walked in silence, but he took your hand every time the terrain got complicated. When you arrived at the campsite, you separated near the tents. He gave you one last quick kiss on the forehead before disappearing toward his.
The next morning, everyone went down to the lake to swim.
Laura was especially affectionate with him: she hugged him around the waist, kissed his shoulder, whispered in his ear and laughed at everything he said. You tried not to look, concentrating on the cold lake water and your own body.
In the afternoon, your father suggested a hike along the forest trails. You accepted reluctantly. You had been walking for a little over half an hour when you started complaining.
“This is so boring… How much longer until we go back?”
Your father and Laura were ahead, chatting animatedly. At one point, the path narrowed and you were left behind with him.
As soon as you were far enough from the others, he grabbed your arm and pulled you to the side of the trail, behind a large, thick tree.
“Come here,” he growled, pushing you against the trunk.
He didn’t give you time to protest. He yanked down your shorts and panties, opened his pants and penetrated you with one deep thrust from behind.
You moaned loudly, holding onto the tree.
“Are you still bored?” he asked in a husky voice as he started fucking you hard, holding your hips.
You couldn’t answer. Only broken moans came out of your mouth as he thrust into you mercilessly, deep and fast. The wet sound of his cock entering you again and again filled the air.
“Tell me,” he insisted, giving you a hard spank. “Are you still bored, princess?”
“No… fuck… no…” you managed to babble, almost without voice.
He chuckled softly and fucked you harder, one hand going down to rub your clit while the other held your hair.
You came quickly, trembling against the tree. He followed shortly after, cumming inside you with a low grunt, filling you once more.
He helped you get dressed again, kissing your neck.
“Now you’re properly entertained, aren’t you?” he murmured with a satisfied smile.
When you returned to the campsite, you announced casually:
“I’m going to bathe in the lake. I want to be alone for a while.”
Your father nodded without problem. Laura too. He, on the other hand, looked at you with intensity, but didn’t say anything at that moment.
You went down to the lake with a towel and your bikini on. You got into the water and started swimming a little. Not even ten minutes had passed when you heard footsteps among the trees.
He appeared through the vegetation, already shirtless, with that dark look you knew so well.
“You said you wanted to be alone…” he commented, approaching the edge of the water.
You smiled, floating in the water.
“And you decided not to listen to me.”
He took off his shorts and got into the water, swimming directly toward you with powerful movements.
“I’m never going to leave you alone…” he murmured when he reached you, pulling you against his naked body in the water. “Not when I can have you like this.”
He trapped you against a large, smooth rock that protruded into the lake, where the water reached your waist. The sunset sun tinted everything in golden and orange tones.
He gently pressed you against the stone, his large body covering yours, and kissed you with deliberate, almost reverent slowness.
“I can’t get enough of you,” he whispered against your lips, while his large hands roamed your body under the water. “I need you all the time. Every damn second.”
His words filled you with a deep, warm happiness. You smiled against his mouth and wrapped your arms around him, pulling him closer.
He removed your bikini with smooth but sure movements. First the top, leaving your breasts in the air, then the bottom. He lifted you a little, positioning you against the rock so the water helped you float slightly. His cock, already completely hard, brushed against your entrance.
He entered you slowly, inch by inch, looking into your eyes the whole time.
“I want to feel all of you,” he murmured, his voice husky but tender. “Every part of you…”
You moaned softly when he was completely inside. This time it wasn’t hard or wild. It was slow, deep and sensual. He moved with long, controlled thrusts, pulling out almost completely only to sink back to the bottom, circling his hips to brush every sensitive spot inside you.
His hands explored your body with devotion: he caressed your breasts, gently pinched your nipples, ran down your waist, squeezed your hips and came back up to hold your face while he kissed you.
“You’re so perfect…” he whispered against your neck, gently biting the skin. “So tight, so hot… so mine.”
You felt like you were floating, both from the water and the pleasure. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. Each slow, deep thrust drew soft moans from you that were lost in the sound of the lake.
He rested his forehead against yours, breathing heavily.
“I never want to stop,” he confessed, accelerating just a little. “I want to fuck you every day, fill you every night… I want you to always carry something of mine inside you.”
His words excited you as much as his movements. You kissed with more urgency, while he continued penetrating you with that delicious slowness that allowed you to feel every vein, every pulse of his thick cock inside you.
He lowered one hand between you and began rubbing your clit with soft but firm circular movements, synchronized with his thrusts.
“Cum for me, princess,” he whispered against your mouth. “I want to feel you squeeze me.”
The orgasm came like a slow but powerful wave. You contracted around him, trembling in his arms as you moaned his name. He followed shortly after, thrusting deep and cumming inside you with a low, long grunt, filling you once more with his hot cum.
He stayed inside you, hugging you tightly against the rock, kissing your neck, shoulders and lips with tenderness.
“I need you always,” he repeated in a low voice, like a vow. “You have no idea how much.”
You stayed hugged to him for a long time, with the cool water caressing your joined bodies, feeling full, desired and happy in a way you had never experienced.
You left the water holding hands. As soon as you reached the shore, on a soft grass area somewhat protected by some bushes, he carefully laid you down on the ground. The towel you had brought was underneath you, protecting you a little from the dirt.
He positioned himself between your legs, still naked and with his cock hard again. He looked at you with that intensity that melted you and lifted one of your legs, resting it on his shoulder. The new position opened you completely for him and he began rubbing the thick head of his cock against your soaked entrance.
He entered you with one deep thrust. The position made him reach much deeper, brushing points that made you moan loudly from the first moment.
“Fuck…” you gasped, holding onto his arms.
He began to move with a firm, steady rhythm, holding your leg against his shoulder. Each thrust was deep, strong and precise. The angle was perfect and made you feel him in an overwhelming way.
Tears began to escape from your eyes from pure pleasure. It wasn’t pain, it was too good. You sobbed between moans while he fucked you mercilessly.
“I want to be your woman…” you managed to say between gasps, your voice broken. “The only one… I don’t want you to be with anyone else. Only with me.”
He grunted, accelerating the rhythm, fucking you harder upon hearing your words.
“You’re mine,” he replied in a husky voice, looking you straight in the eyes. “Only mine. I don’t want anyone else. Not Laura, not anyone. Only you, princess.”
His words filled you with such great emotion that the tears continued to fall. He leaned a little more, almost folding you in half, and kissed you while he continued penetrating you deeply.
“I’m going to leave her, princess…” he growled against your mouth. “I’m going to separate and I’m going to stay with you. I want you to be the mother of my children. Only you.”
You came hard, almost screaming, contracting violently around his cock. He followed seconds later, pushing to the bottom and cumming inside you with a guttural grunt, filling you once more.
He collapsed carefully on top of you, still inside, and hugged you tightly. He kissed the tears from your cheeks with tenderness.
“I want you,” he repeated in a low voice, like a vow. “Only you.”
You stayed hugged to him, trembling with pleasure and emotion, with his cum dripping between your legs and your heart full.
That afternoon at the lake was the last time you two were together. When they returned to the campsite, they pretended normality. He returned to his role as attentive husband with Laura and you returned to being his best friend’s daughter.
That night they barely exchanged glances and the next day they packed everything and returned home in an uncomfortable silence, and then everything changed.
As soon as they arrived, he made his decision. That same night he told your father that he needed to sort things out with Laura and the next day, he left with her back to Texas. He didn’t tell you directly, he just looked at you one last time before getting in the car, with an expression full of guilt, unspoken promises and something like pain.
But there were no words. There was no “I’ll call you,” or “this isn’t over.” Just a brief hug in front of your father and Laura, and then… nothing.
Your heart broke into a thousand pieces. The first days were the worst. You spent them locked in your room, looking at your phone every five minutes, waiting for a message, a call, anything, but the phone never rang.
You knew, deep down, that he was right to leave with her first. He had to resolve his marriage, talk, separate formally if he really wanted to be with you. It was the responsible, logical thing, but that didn’t make it hurt any less. Every night you cried silently against the pillow, remembering his words at the lake and wondering if they had been just words of the moment? Heat of passion? The doubt ate away at you inside.
Your father noticed you were acting strange, but he attributed it to university stress or problems with Tony. You didn’t tell him anything. How were you going to explain that you had fallen in love with his best friend? That he had fucked you in the forest promising you a future and now had disappeared?
The following weeks were a silent hell.
At first you tried to convince yourself that it was just stress, that the delay in your period was due to anxiety, constant crying and sleepless nights, but then the symptoms started.
Morning nausea that forced you to run to the bathroom as soon as you woke up. Sensitive and swollen breasts. A deep fatigue that made you want to sleep all day and the smell of coffee that you used to love now made you retch.
You were terrified. A small, secret part of you felt strangely happy at the possibility. It was a part of him, a living little piece of everything you had shared in secret. A baby that would carry his blood. But the other part, the bigger and more rational one, was scared to death.
How were you going to be a mother now? You were too young, you were alone, you had no stable job, you lived with your father and the man who had gotten you pregnant had disappeared without saying a word.
You felt useless. Stupid. Naive.
How could you have believed him? How did you fall so easily for the words of a man who was twice your age? Your father’s best friend. A married man who had just gotten out of prison. You repeated over and over how stupid you had been.
Some nights you stayed looking at the ceiling with silent tears rolling down your cheeks, thinking that it would be easier to simply not exist. Wanting to die was a thought that appeared more and more frequently, although you never said it out loud.
One afternoon, after vomiting for the third time that day, you went to the pharmacy alone and bought three pregnancy tests.
You got home, locked yourself in the bathroom and waited. All three tests came back positive. You sat on the bathroom floor for almost twenty minutes, staring at the two pink lines as if they were a death sentence. When you finally reacted, you stumbled to your room, locked the door and threw yourself on the bed.
You buried your face in the pillow and cried like never before in your life. The sobs were so strong they choked you. You bit the pillow so your father wouldn’t hear you from the living room. Your whole body trembled. You felt small, broken, completely alone.
“Idiot… idiot…” you repeated between sobs, hitting the bed with your fist. “How could you be so stupid?”
The images invaded you uncontrollably: his large hands holding you against the tree, his husky voice promising that he only wanted you, that he wanted you to have his babies, his deep thrusts while he told you he was going to fill you…
And now you were alone. Pregnant. With a baby growing inside you that he didn’t even know existed.
You cried until your throat hurt and you had no more tears left. You stayed curled up in the fetal position, hugging your belly with both hands, trembling.
You didn’t know what you were going to do. You didn’t know how to tell your father. And, above all, you didn’t know if you would ever see the man who had destroyed you and, at the same time, given you the most important thing in your life again.
You stayed locked in your room for days, as if the outside world no longer existed. The curtains always closed, the dim light of the night lamp barely illuminating the mess that was your bed: used tissues everywhere, the silent phone on the nightstand, and you curled up in the fetal position, hugging your knees to your chest.
Every morning the nausea woke you before dawn, forcing you to run to the bathroom with your hand over your mouth. Vomiting left you exhausted, trembling, with a bitter taste in your throat and fresh tears running down your cheeks.
You thought about him constantly. About his promises, about his husky voice saying he only wanted you, that he was going to leave Laura, that he wanted you to be the mother of his children.
Lies. It had all been lies born of the heat of the moment. Now you were alone with a baby growing inside you, and he had left as if nothing, as if the days in the forest had meant absolutely nothing.
Some nights the pain was so great that you sat on the edge of the bed, looking at the bottle of sleeping pills you had stolen from your father’s medicine cabinet.
You counted them over and over in the palm of your hand. It would be so easy, you thought. Swallow them all, close your eyes and stop feeling this emptiness. You imagined how your father would find you cold in the morning, and that made you cry harder, but the thought returned. No one really loves me. No one is going to love me with this inside. You felt broken, dirty, stupid. A silly girl who spread her legs for her father’s best friend, an ex-convict who had used her and discarded her.
Your father noticed the change almost immediately.
At first he respected your space, thinking it was sadness over the guests’ departure or university stress. But the days passed and you barely left your room. You ate little, almost nothing. You had deep dark circles, a pale face and swollen eyes from crying so much in silence.
One afternoon, after you tried to eat something in the kitchen and ended up vomiting in the bathroom again, he gently knocked on your door.
“Daughter… can I come in?”
You didn’t answer at first. You stayed curled up in bed, your face buried in the wet pillow.
He opened the door slowly. The light from the hallway made you squint. He sat on the edge of the bed carefully, as if afraid of breaking you.
“You’ve been like this for days. You barely eat, you don’t go out, you don’t talk… You’re worrying me a lot, my life. What’s wrong? You can tell me anything.”
You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut tightly. The tears were already starting to come again.
“No… I can’t, Dad. Please, leave me.”
He sighed, but didn’t move. He caressed your hair tenderly, like when you were a child.
“I’m your father. I’ve known you since you were born. I know when something is destroying you inside. I’m not going to pressure you if you don’t want to, but… look at you. You’re suffering alone and I can’t stand it. Let me help you. Whatever it is, I’m going to protect you. I’ve always done that. Nothing is going to change that.”
His voice was so soft, so full of unconditional love, that something inside you broke. You started sobbing hard, your body shaking. He immediately hugged you, surrounding you with his strong arms, and you clung to his shirt as if you were going to drown.
“Dad… I’m pregnant,” you finally whispered, with a broken, almost inaudible voice.
The silence that followed was heavy, eternal. You felt his body tense against yours. His hand stopped caressing your back for a second.
“What…?” he murmured, stunned.
You pulled away a little to look at him. His face was pale, his eyes wide open, as if he couldn’t process the words. He remained frozen, searching your face for some sign that it was a cruel joke. But he only saw tears, shame and pure terror.
“I’m pregnant,” you repeated, crying harder. “I don’t know what to do… I’m scared, Dad. So scared.”
He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. He ran a hand over his face, breathing heavily. The shock was visible: the wrinkles on his forehead became more pronounced, his eyes watered.
“My God…” he finally whispered.
You shrank, waiting for rejection, anger, disgust.
“Please… don’t stop loving me,” you begged between sobs, your voice broken. “I know I’m an idiot, that I ruined everything, but don’t leave me alone. Don’t hate me… please.”
He reacted then. He hugged you tightly, almost desperately, burying your face against his chest. You felt his tears fall on your hair.
“Never, my girl. I’m never going to stop loving you. I love you more than anything in this world. You’re my daughter, my everything. None of this is going to change that,” his voice broke. “But… fuck, I’m disappointed. Very disappointed. Not because of the baby… but because you didn’t come to me sooner. Because you’ve been suffering all this alone.”
“I know,” you cried against his shirt. “I know, Dad. I was terrified. I felt alone, stupid… I thought… I wanted to die. Some nights… I thought about ending it all.”
He hugged you tighter, as if he wanted to merge with you to protect you from the world.
“Don’t say that. Never. We’re going to get through this together. I’m here. You’re not alone.”
You stayed hugged to him for a long time, crying until your lungs hurt.
He rocked you gently, kissing your head, his own silent tears. The weight of disappointment was there, heavy between the two of you, but love was greater.
When your sobs calmed a little, he pulled away enough to look you in the eyes, with his hands on your shoulders.
“Who is the father?” he asked in a hoarse voice, trying to stay calm. “Is it Tony? Did that idiot do this to you?”
You shook your head, lowering it.
“No… it’s not Tony.”
He frowned, confused and increasingly tense.
“Then who? Tell me his name.”
You didn’t answer. The words got stuck in your throat. You looked toward the window, with your eyes full of tears again.
“Daughter… who is it?” he insisted, softer but firm.
Silence.
His expression changed. Something seemed to click in his mind. His eyes darkened with pain and contained rage.
“Is it his?” he asked in a low voice, almost fearing the answer.
You just nodded, biting your lip hard until it bled a little. The tears fell silently again.
He let out a choked sound, between surprise and deep fury. He got up from the bed and walked a few steps around the room, running his hands through his hair.
“Son of a bitch…” he murmured. “How…? How could you…?”
“Dad…” you whispered. “How did you know?”
He stopped and looked at you, with red eyes.
“I’m not an idiot. I saw how you looked at him in the house, at the lake… the glances, how you got nervous when he was around. I thought it was just a silly girl’s thing, an innocent attraction. I never imagined…” his voice broke again. “I’m very disappointed. In both of you. He was like a brother to me. I trusted him. And you… my girl. He took advantage of you. He got you pregnant and left like a coward.”
He approached again and sat down, but this time with slumped shoulders.
“If I see him… I’ll kill him. I swear I’ll make him pay for every tear you’ve shed.”
“No!” you exclaimed, grabbing his arm desperately. “Dad, please… no. I love him. I know it sounds stupid, but I love him. It was real for me. Don’t hurt him. Please.”
He looked at you for a long time, with his broken heart visible on his face. Rage, disappointment, protective love… all mixed together.
Finally he hugged you again, tightly, as if he wanted to absorb all your pain.
“I don’t know what we’re going to do,” he whispered against your hair. “But you’re going to be okay, I promise.”
You stayed there, in his arms, crying silently while he held you.
You kept the baby. There was no other real option in your heart, even though fear accompanied you every day. With your father’s silent but firm support, you started going to the doctor. The first appointments were terrible: your hands trembled while you had the tests done, you felt shame when the doctor asked about the father and you could only look down. You heard your baby’s heartbeat for the first time and cried on the examination table, a mix of terror and overwhelming tenderness you didn’t expect.
Little by little you faced reality.
You bought vitamins, looser clothes, and began to notice how your belly was gently rounding. Some nights you still cried silently, but you no longer thought about the pills. You had a reason to keep going. Your father was there: he accompanied you to appointments, prepared meals that didn’t make you nauseous, and although disappointment still floated between you like a shadow, he never let go of your hand.
One night, while you were having dinner at the kitchen table, there was a knock at the door. It was late, almost nine o’clock. You got up carefully, placing a hand on your already visible belly under the loose t-shirt.
“I’ll get it,” you said softly.
You opened the door… and the world stopped.
There he was, and when he saw you, a tentative smile formed on his lips.
“Princess…” he murmured.
Your knees weakened. You felt everything spinning. You grabbed the door frame to keep from falling, your heart beating so hard you thought you were going to faint. The air left your lungs. You couldn’t speak, you just looked at him, with your eyes full of tears that began to fall uncontrollably.
His smile lasted barely two seconds.
Your father appeared behind you like lightning. He didn’t say a word, he just closed his fist and threw a punch straight to his face. The dry sound of the impact echoed in the hallway. He staggered back, but your father didn’t stop. He gave him another punch to the jaw, and another to the stomach that doubled him over.
“Dad! Stop!” you screamed, horrified.
You ran toward them. He was on the porch floor, bleeding from the mouth. You tried to intervene, pushing your father with all your strength.
“Enough, please! You’re going to kill him!”
Your father was breathing like a wounded animal, with bloody knuckles and eyes full of fury. You managed to separate them enough. He spat blood on the ground and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, looking at your father with confusion and pain.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he growled, trying to get up.
Your father approached again and, before you could stop him, spat in his face.
“You trampled on our friendship. I trusted you like a brother and you… you fucked my daughter. You’re a disgusting person. You broke her heart and the worst of all… you got her pregnant, you son of a bitch. You disappeared and left her alone with this.”
The silence that followed was suffocating.
He slowly raised his gaze toward you. His green eyes widened in horror when he saw the tears running down your cheeks, your protective hand on your rounded belly, the way you were trembling. The color left his face.
“What…?” he whispered, almost without voice.
He got up with difficulty, staggering, and tried to approach you.
“Princess… please…”
Your father pushed him hard against the wall.
“Don’t get close to her.”
“Please…” he begged, his voice broken, looking only at you. “I need to talk to her. I left Laura. I did everything… for her.”
Your father let out a bitter, rage-filled laugh.
“Shameless. You show up now, after months, and you expect…”
“Dad,” you intervened, with a trembling but firm voice. “Let us talk. Please. Just… a moment.”
Your father looked at you, torn between fierce protection and love for you.
Finally, with his jaw clenched, he nodded.
“I’ll be in the kitchen.”
He left, but left the door ajar. The atmosphere remained charged, heavy.
He took a step toward you, but you instinctively moved away, crossing your arms over your chest. The tears wouldn’t stop.
“No… don’t come near me,” you said in a broken voice. “You have no right.”
“Love, let me explain…”
“No!” you exclaimed, and all the accumulated sadness came out like a torrent. “Explain what? That you used me? I spent weeks thinking you only wanted my body. That all those promises at the lake, in the forest, were just words to fuck me. You left me alone. You disappeared. I thought you were going to come back. I waited for your call like an idiot… and nothing. I found out about the pregnancy vomiting every morning, crying until I had no tears left. I thought about dying, you know? About swallowing pills because I felt dirty, used, broken. Because the man who said he loved me, who wanted me to be the mother of his children, abandoned me like I was garbage.”
Your voice broke into sobs. You brought a hand to your mouth, trying to contain yourself, but you couldn’t.
“Every medical appointment I went to alone at first. Every night I felt this baby move and thought you would never know him. That I had ruined everything by believing you. I hated you. I hated you so much… and at the same time I still loved you and that destroyed me even more.”
He was devastated. Tears ran down his face. He ran his hands through his hair, desperate.
“Forgive me… Please, forgive me. You have no idea how sorry I am.”
You stayed silent, trembling. Finally, in a thread of voice, you told him:
“Talk. Explain. But I don’t know if I want to hear it.”
He approached slowly, until he was a meter away from you. His voice was hoarse, broken by emotion.
“I was a coward. When we returned from the lake, guilt ate me alive. Laura suspected something, your father was there… I thought I had to fix my marriage first, do things right, separate like a man before coming for you. But every day without you was hell. I called you mentally, wrote messages that I deleted. I wanted to give you stability, not drag you into my mess. When I finally left Laura a few weeks ago, I came as fast as I could. I didn’t know… I didn’t know about the baby.”
His voice broke. He knelt in front of you, right there in the entrance, with his knees on the cold floor.
“I love you. I love you like I’ve never loved anyone. It wasn’t just your body. It was your laugh, the way you looked at me, your strength. I want to be with you. I want to be the father of that baby. I want to wake up every day by your side and make up for every tear. Please… don’t shut me out. Don’t push me away. I need you. I need both of you.”
He was crying openly, kneeling like a broken man, with his face swollen from the blows and dried blood at the corner of his lips. He extended a trembling hand toward you, without touching you, waiting.
“Forgive me, princess. Give me a chance to prove to you that this time I’m not going to leave. Please…”
The air was charged with pain, wounded love, broken promises and new pleas. You stayed there, with one hand on your belly and your heart in pieces, not knowing if you could forgive or if the damage was already irreparable. The tears continued to fall, silently, while you looked at him kneeling in front of you.
“Why…?” you whispered between sobs, with a broken and trembling voice. “Why do I have to love you so much? Tell me… why can’t I hate you like I should? You left. You left me alone with all this… and still, every night I dreamed of you. Every time I felt the baby move, I thought of you. Why do I have to love you in this stupid and painful way?”
He raised his gaze toward you, with his reddened green eyes full of tears. His beaten face was swollen, but the real pain was in his expression. He extended a trembling hand, not daring to touch you yet.
“Cause’ I love you the same way,” he answered in a hoarse, broken voice. “Because what we have is bigger than fear, than my mistakes, than everything. I made the worst mistake of my life by walking away. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I only destroyed you. Forgive me… please, princess. Give me another chance. Let me prove to you that this time I’m going to stay. I’m going to be there for you and for our baby. I’m not going to fail you again.”
The tears prevented you from seeing clearly.
You wiped your face with the back of your hand, breathing unevenly. The weight of everything you had lived through was still there, oppressing your chest.
“Get up…” you finally whispered, with a weak voice. “Please, get up. I can’t stand seeing you like this.”
He stood up slowly, with difficulty, grimacing in pain from your father’s blows. As soon as he was in front of you, you took a step and kissed him. It was a desperate kiss, salty with tears, full of rage and love at the same time. Your hands clung tightly to his shirt, as if you feared he would disappear again. He reciprocated with the same intensity, surrounding you with his large, warm arms, careful not to press too hard on your belly.
When you separated, you rested your forehead against his, still crying.
“I hate you…” you murmured against his lips. “I hate you for what you put me through. For every night I thought I didn’t matter to you. But I love you more. I love you so much it hurts to breathe. I don’t know how I’m going to forgive you completely… but I can’t let you go.”
He closed his eyes, pressing you gently against his chest. One of his hands lowered to your belly and caressed it with reverence, feeling for the first time the curve where his son was growing.
“I love you,” he said in a deep, trembling voice. “I love you like I never thought I could love someone. These months away were hell. I realized I missed your laugh, the way you laugh when something really amuses you. I missed your whims, how you got angry about everything and furrowed your brow in that adorable way. I missed the way you looked at me when you thought no one was watching… that mix of desire and shyness that drove me crazy. I missed your scent, your voice, the way you gave yourself to me without reservations. Everything about you. Every damn thing. There’s no one else for me. Only you.”
He hugged you tighter, kissing your hair, your forehead, your wet cheeks. You continued crying against his chest, but now it was a different cry: softer, more liberating.
The pain was still there, deep and slowly healing, but for the first time in months you felt a glimmer of hope.
“I don’t know if I can trust you again…” you whispered. “But I want to try. For me. For the baby. For us.”
He nodded, without letting you go.
“I’m going to earn that trust every day. I’m not going anywhere. I’m here. Forever, princess.”
You stayed hugged in the entrance, under the dim light of the porch, while your father waited in the kitchen, probably listening to everything. The world outside kept turning, but at that moment only the two of you existed, trying to rebuild what you had almost destroyed forever.
The following months were not easy. For your father, accepting the relationship was a slow and painful process. At first he barely tolerated his presence in the house. Dinners were tense, conversations short and full of awkward silences. Your father looked at him with a mix of contained rage and deep disappointment every time he saw him touch your belly or kiss you on the forehead. More than once you heard arguments between them in the living room: harsh words, reproaches about the betrayed friendship and about the responsibility he now had.
But time, as always, did its work. Your father saw how he was there every day. He saw him accompany you to all the medical appointments, hold your hand during the ultrasounds, paint the baby’s room with patience and carry the boxes of diapers without complaining. He saw how he took care of you. And, above all, he saw how you started smiling again little by little. One day, after a dinner in which he helped wash the dishes without anyone asking, your father just sighed deeply and told him:
“I don’t forgive you for what you did. But if you’re going to be with my daughter and my grandson… you’d better do it right. If you hurt her again, I won’t settle for a few punches.”
It was the closest thing to a blessing you were going to get.
He kept his word. He quickly sold the house in Texas, closed that chapter of his life with Laura and used the money to buy a large and beautiful house just two streets from your father’s. He wanted you to be close to your family, to have support. Together you started organizing the baby’s room: you painted the walls a soft gray and yellow, assembled the crib, placed furniture and hung small glowing stars on the ceiling. He spent hours there with you, placing everything carefully, kissing your belly every time he bent down.
He accompanied you everywhere. To childbirth preparation classes, for afternoon walks so you could move, even to buy maternity clothes. Things weren’t perfect: there were moments of insecurity, arguments due to fatigue and fear of the future, nights when you woke up crying remembering the abandonment. But you tried. A little more every day.
You only heard about Laura once. One afternoon, while he was talking on the phone in the garden, you heard his raised voice through the half-open window.
“…yes, the house is already sold. No, I’m not going to give you more than what we agreed. And stop insulting her, Laura. She has nothing to do with this. This was my decision.”
You heard her call you “young whore” and other hurtful things before he hung up. You didn’t care. You already had enough with your own world.
He made sure to make you feel loved every day. Small details: flowers for no reason, massages for your swollen feet, slow kisses in the mornings, his hands always seeking to touch you as if he needed to remind himself that you were real. He constantly repeated that you were beautiful, even when you felt huge and tired.
One night, when you were already nine months pregnant, you went out to dinner at a quiet restaurant. You felt especially pretty in a black maternity dress that gently hugged your figure. The dinner was pleasant, full of laughter and plans for the future. At one point you went to the bathroom and, when you returned, you saw the scene: an attractive woman, more or less his age, was leaning over the table openly flirting with him.
“…and tell me, what is a man like you doing here alone?” she was saying.
He looked up, and with a firm and cold voice he replied:
“Go away. I have a wife.”
The woman laughed, unaware of your presence.
“I don’t see her anywhere…”
You appeared right behind her, placing a possessive hand on his shoulder.
“Here I am,” you said in a clear and calm voice. “I’m his wife.”
The woman looked you up and down, noticing your prominent belly, and left muttering something between her teeth. You sat down again, with a small smile on your lips. It had been a long time since you had felt jealous. That night, that small pang of possessiveness reminded you how much you loved him.
You arrived home charged with that energy. As soon as you closed the door to the bedroom, he kissed you with contained hunger. It had been weeks since you had had sex; the advanced pregnancy and fatigue had put it on pause. But that night was different.
He undressed you with reverent slowness, kissing every inch of skin he discovered. He knelt in front of you and kissed your swollen belly, whispering words of love against your skin. He helped you lie on your side, the most comfortable position at that moment, and positioned himself behind you. His large hands caressed your more sensitive breasts, gently pinching the nipples while he kissed your neck.
“You’re so beautiful…” he murmured against your ear, his voice husky with desire. “So mine.”
When he entered you, he did it slowly, inch by inch, careful with every movement. You moaned loudly, because after so long without feeling him, the sensation was exquisite. You were more sensitive, tighter, and each slow, deep thrust made you tremble. He held you with one arm around your waist, the other hand caressing your clit with perfect circles.
“Fuck…” he growled against your neck. “You’re so hot, so wet for me…”
You moved against him as best you could, seeking more depth. The pleasure was different now: more intense, more emotional. Every time he entered to the bottom you moaned his name, and he responded with kisses and words of love.
“Cum for me, princess… let me feel you,” he whispered, accelerating just a little, always careful.
The orgasm hit you like a slow and powerful wave. You contracted around him, trembling in his arms as you moaned. He followed shortly after, cumming inside you with a long, husky grunt, hugging you tightly against his chest.
You stayed joined for a long time, breathing heavily. He didn’t pull out of you immediately. He kissed your nape, your cheek, and caressed your belly with tenderness.
“I love you,” he repeated over and over. “This is just the beginning. We’re going to be okay.”
That night you slept glued to him, with his protective hand on your belly and your heart calmer than it had been in a long time. The wounds were still there, but little by little they were turning into scars. And for the first time in months, you felt that the future could be good. Together.
A few days later, in the early morning, while you were sleeping glued to his chest, you felt the first strong contraction. It was like a bolt of pain that ran through your back and belly. You complained and he woke up immediately.
“Is it time?” he asked, alert in seconds.
You nodded, biting your lip. Labor had begun.
The following hours were intense. You arrived at the hospital quickly. Your father followed in his car, nervous but present. The birth was natural, as you wanted, but it wasn’t easy. You were a first-time mother and the baby was big. The contractions became stronger and closer together.
You sweated, moaned in pain, squeezing his hand so hard you thought you were going to break his fingers.
“Breathe, princess… I’m here,” he repeated non-stop, wiping your forehead with a cold cloth, kissing your sweat-soaked hair. “You’re doing incredible. You’re the strongest woman I know.”
You screamed with every push. The pain was tearing, as if your body was opening in two. At one point, between contraction and contraction, you cried exhausted.
“I can’t… it hurts so much…”
“Yes you can,” he told you in a firm but loving voice, looking you in the eyes. “It’s almost over. Our son is about to arrive. Hold on a little longer.”
Your father waited outside, pacing back and forth. The nurses came in and out. After almost twelve hours of labor, the doctor told you it was time.
“Push! Hard!”
You screamed with all your strength. You felt your body opening, the intense burning, the overwhelming pressure. And then… the cry. A strong, healthy, vigorous cry filled the room.
“It’s a boy,” the doctor announced with a smile. “He’s perfect!”
They placed the baby on your chest almost immediately, still connected by the cord. He was wet, wrinkled, with a red face and clenched little fists, but to you he was the most beautiful thing you had ever seen in your life.
He was chubby, with full cheeks and a bit of dark hair on his head. You hugged him against your skin, crying uncontrollably.
“My baby…” you whispered, kissing his little head. “Hello, my love… you’re here.”
You never imagined you could love someone so much so quickly. That love was instant, fierce, overwhelming. It was as if all the pain, fear and tears of the previous months were worth it just to have him there, breathing against your chest.
He was by your side, with his eyes full of tears he didn’t bother to hide. He let them run freely while he caressed the baby’s back with a trembling hand and kissed your forehead over and over.
“Thank you…” he murmured with a broken voice. “Thank you for our son. You’re incredible. I love you so much…”
He cried without shame, with silent sobs, looking at his son as if he couldn’t believe he was real. That big, strong man, who had been in prison, was completely undone with emotion in front of his little one.
After they sutured you and cleaned you up, they moved you to a private room.
You were exhausted but happy, with the baby already clean and wrapped in a blanket, sleeping peacefully in your arms. Your father came in for a while, excited, and held his grandson with trembling hands. There were tears from him too. Then he left you alone.
When things calmed down, you looked at him, who was sitting on the edge of the bed, unable to stop touching the baby.
“It didn’t seem like you’d been in prison for so long,” you said with a tired but teasing smile. “You cried like a child when you saw him.”
He let out a low, husky laugh, wiping his still wet eyes. He leaned in and kissed you softly on the lips.
“How could I not cry?” he replied, looking at you with so much love that you felt your heart swell. “I was watching my woman, the person I love most in the world, give birth to our son. It was the most beautiful and strongest thing I’ve seen in my life. I cried with pride, with gratitude… with love. All together.”
He caressed the chubby cheek of the baby, who slept deeply, with his thumb.
“He looks like you,” he murmured. “He has your nose.”
“And your eyes, I hope,” you replied, resting your head on his shoulder.
You stayed like that for a long time: you resting in bed, him by your side, with one hand on your shoulder and the other near the baby. The room was silent, only interrupted by the soft breathing of the newborn. For the first time in a long time, everything seemed to be in its place.
You and him had gone through hell, but there both were: a family.
And of course a few months later he proposed to you.
masterlist | my AO3 account | more of „supernatural“
Dbf!Dean who holds onto your thigh underneath the dinner table, letting his thumb brush over all your sensitive spots and moving his hand height and higher, all while your dad sits right across from you two.
Dbf!Dean who pushes himself up behind you while you do the dishes after dinner, your dad outside cleaning the grill. You can feel his growing hard on and his firm muscles thru his clothes, making the wetness just pool between your legs.
Dbf!Dean who presses down at the bulge that forms in your tummy whenever he pushes deep enough into you. He just loves seeing you whine about how big he is but how you can definitely handle every inch of him.
Dbf!Dean who likes fucking you while he’s got you in a headlock, making you unable to move from the overstimulation he’s putting you in. While you love being so close to him I to just getting way too much for you body to handle, but you wanted it didn’t you?
Dbf!Dean who tells you he’s so proud of you whenever you show him how good you did in on a test for college. And go of course rewards you with burying his head between your legs for hours on end.
Dbf!Dean who slaps or pinches your ass whenever you walk by him and no ones looking, at the family barbecue or when he and your dad watch football on weekends and you’re so nice to bring them another beer. Right here beside your dad but he’s focused on the game so he won’t notice.
Dbf!Dean who pushes his fingers into your mouth whenever you start whining about literally anything during sex, or not during sex.
Guys I swear I do NOT have any issues with my dad
taglist: @needjoekeery @jason-vs-crowbar r @iloveneilperry @eidbcgduiajxbsu @rubyrubydoo09 @romydolly
Notes𓏲ּ𝄢 I am in no way shape or form good at writing, I am just writing for fun and because I am passionate about it. I wrote this in less than ten minutes.
You're Dean Winchester's summertime fix. The only girl he comes back to when the air gets clammy and the cicadas in the field out behind your little white house start to buzz. You guess it's because monsters pick up during the heat, or they're at least more active.
You try to come up with some sort of conclusion as to why he comes back to you of all people, why you're the girl he's chosen to bury himself in. You could never assume that you're actually special. Maybe it's because you understand hunting like he does. Maybe it's how you tenderly accept the fuck up he is or at least claims to be when he gets drunk enough to vent to you.
But he and Sam swung by again, after their hunt in Alabama. Something about a Wraith, but you weren't paying attention. Not when Dean eye fucked you and couldn't keep his hands to himself. Not even to save his brother from the embarrassment. The moment Dean had his dirtied boots off at your cute little mat by the front door, and his duffle down on your made-up table, he was on you.
Calloused hands gripping your ass through your pretty sundress, mouth on your neck, completely fueled by his pretty girl in the summer heat, all giggly and warm. Maybe they'd stick around for a few days, not just for the iced tea and a home cooked meal this time. Or maybe that's all this was to Dean, that you were a place for him and his brother to crash at and a body to blow his loads into, but you could never think that he'd be so shallow.
Not your, Dean. Not your summertime beau.
No, you couldn't think that. Not when he was over-top of you after being between your legs and making your legs tingle and head swim. Not when he was keeping you pinned beneath his strength and muscular frame. The heat swam through the room, skin slapping skin rattled the walls, and the crickets outside sang. All while your short-lived lover was griding deep into your mushy walls. Mumbling praises against the crown of your ear,
"So good, baby.. that's my sweet, July.."
And definitely not when his nickname for you rolled off his tongue in a low groan that'd replay in your mind once this was all over. Not even when he kissed you reverently. Like he might've actually missed this. Not ever. Dean cares about you. You've convinced yourself of this. Even when he was sure to ghost you after hitting the asphalt and dirt roads.
"That's it baby, come undone for me.. let m'feel you." His hips would continue to piston right up against your pelvis, and the head of his aching cock would drag firmly against that sweet spot buried deep in your cunt. His mouth would continue to run, spewing lewd or loving nonsense he might not ever mean, all while he'd leave hot wet kisses and bites over your collar bone and neck.
Dean wanted to mark you up before he'd vanish again, only to return the very next summer if hunting wouldn't take him from you. You were a vacation for him. You were his saving grace in this fucking heat. You were where he would run to when he needed security.
You were too forgiving.
He's grabbing your face and keeping your love hooded eyes on his lustful ones, while he fucks you into the too big bed that makes you feel all alone at night, "That's it.. keep those pretty-.. eyes on me, baby." He's huffing and grunting as he pounds into your fluttering walls and holds your body that's arching up into him as you come undone with a sweet cry.
"Mm, fuck.. so pretty, m'gonna cum, fuck.." Fuck, leaves his mouth like a chant, in moans that are turning into manly whimpers as he fills you. He was so desperate for this, for you. He can't stop kissing you now that he's ridden out his orgasm and dragged out yours.
He's already pulling you close to his warm and sticky body like he means everything; he's brushing the hair that's stuck to your sweaty forehead away while he tenderly kisses your flushed face. How could he leave you behind after this?
My submission for the @fanficwritersofthespnfandom monthly writing challenge 🔥
Prompt: "Your favourite character enjoy a day at the beach" ☀️
Summary: That is, considering Dean knows how to relax for a minute. Wrote it as an independent detour, following the main story of my fic Fire of Unknown Origin!
Pairing: Dean x Female OC
Rating: Teen and up
Word count: 1170
𖤐 ──────── ✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧ ────────𖤐
"Hey, my car, my call."
Dean grumbled, squeezing the wheel of his Impala as he kept the fast pace of his rumbling car going down the interstate 16, leaving Savannah. A false lead on chasing down Rowena in southern states had brought he and Liv to Georgia. The cunning enchantress had double-crossed Liv, leaving the Higher Grounds high and dry with false information (the American Witchcraft network that unfortunately Liv still couldn't get rid of off).
"I know, Dean, but this is my case. You're only here because you don't trust me with your car, now that my old Triumph can no longer cross the country like she used to." The young runaway witch shot the hunter a glance, as to prevent him to drop the big 'I-told-you-so', that bikes are not fit for the hunting life. He simply ticked his tongue, their language sometimes not needing any words, after years of practicing their intense yet troublesome relationship.
"Has nothing to do with trust. It's, hm... Principle."
"Yeah sure, and do you also have principles against taking a short detour?" She snapped back, with a hint of amusement in her tone.
"Define short."
"Well, I don't know. Turn around, I'm sure we can find a beach a couple hours back."
"And why d'you suddenly want to go to the beach? Don't we have an old witch to hunt?"
"Just- To unwind a bit. Take a damn break! We're nowhere on finding McLeod, anyway." Liv said, opening the window to let the wind in, the swift gust turning her hair into a blond mess, and grabbing the box of tapes in the glove box in front of her, to switch the music.
"Hey! Driver picks th-"
"C'mon, I'm putting Van Halen on. I know it's your road trip go-to band~"
He didn't argue, since she had a point. More than one. They had mentioned they should try and find moments, to just be together, outside of all the affairs involving backstabbing witches and revengeful angels. They had come a long way, he and her, and even if they had a hard time figuring out how to be together, they found themselves agreeing that they didn't want to put an end to it, whatever 'together' meant. So, if a day at the beach was a first step to patch things up, surely there were worse options.
Still, Dean wasn't too enthusiastic about the impromptu idea. He felt like it was a waste of time, and money - since they had to stop and buy essentials swimwear and protection. He hated to leave Baby in the public parking lot, grilling under the heat of Tybee Island, east of Savannah, where they decided to stop. He realised he also hated walking in the burning sand, and thought that maybe Anakin wasn't that ridiculous after all about that. Even when they found a spot, secluded enough from other groups, he still hadn't said much more than random grunts. The beach wasn't too busy yet this time of year, in early June. It was quiet, a breeze pushing clouds away, like some higher power granted them a fit weather for a lazy afternoon by the ocean. But not the sight of the infinite blue, sky and water meeting, eased him. Not even the sight of his girl changing, right there on the beach.
"C'mon, Liv, really? Cover yourself, damnit."
She finished tying her top behind her neck, an unbothered smirk creeping on her face. "Jeez, why so cranky? It's fine, no one's watching."
"Still, you could have changed in the car."
The untroubled witch ignored his incessant grumbling, and stretched to grab the bottle of sunscreen. "Hey, would you do my back?"
Dean turned to look at her, hesitant. Not that they were strangers to one another, on the physical department, far from it. But it'd been a while since they shared anything remotely intimate. He agreed, spreading the sunscreen hastily as a family passed by, a five year yelling as they settled around fifty yards from them.
"Hm... Still no news of your damn demon?" Dean said, his restless mind still on business as his eyes lost on the antipossession and binding tattoos Liv had in-between and on her shoulder blades, keeping the conversation on the hunting field.
"Barb? Nah. And honestly, fuck him."
"Really? I thought you guys were like, besties."
Liv chuckled. "Besties? I never said that. And- Barbatos has kept too many secrets. I ain't stupid, Dean, I know I shouldn't trust him." That left an uncomfortable pause between them, at lease to him, her own sneak ventures being the very reason they'd almost fully broken up. And she was fully aware of that. "You believe me, right?" She asked, turning around to look at him. The sigh he let go was eloquent enough. "Dean... What- Do you want me to apologise again? I wasn't well that day."
"I know, I know. Archangels and Apocalypse shit." His voice lowered almost to a murmur, the memory of Liv confused after the battle, and yet hard on her decision to leave him, was to this day still a tangled mystery. As he clenched his fist in the sand, the hot grains ran between his fingers in a foreign sensation to him.
Liv scooped closer, behind him, to wrap her arms around his neck in a familiar embrace, her skin warm to the touch along his back. "Hey, I'm not going anywhere now. You know that?"
The question hang unanswered, the weight it bore swept by a fresh breeze carrying the ocean spray over their faces. Instead, Dean just brought his hand over hers in a comforting gesture.
"So what do we do now?" He asked.
"Well, we take things slow. Or just, not as messy and chaotic as we used to."
"No, I- I meant right here, on a freaking beach."
The fact that a sunny holiday by the sea had never been a thing for the Winchesters growing up didn't hit her right away, who had known few but quite fun improvised trips with her sisters once they were old enough to drive, exploiting the perks of being from an east coast state.
"Well, we... Like I said, we take a break. Bathe a bit, chill a while. Also, not burning down is a nice start." She added, grabbing the sunscreen to apply to his back.
Dean chuckled from the reference to her powers, the endless stream of fire-related puns they'd made across the years sometimes making him forget his carefree girl was considered a walking threat by some ineffable forces. The short massage finally helped him relax. Maybe one afternoon with no monsters nor witches, no angels nor demons, no inevitable doom over their heads, was all they needed indeed. The tiresome hunter took a deep breath, the infinite come and go of the waves somewhat soothing, compared with the incessant roaring of their day-to-day life.
summary: your dad hosts the neighbourhood Fourth of July get-together every year, and every year, his best friend, Beau Arlen, is there. After Beau meets your new boyfriend and realizes you deserve better, he wants to make sure you know it.
♡ warnings: NSFW, MDNI, 18+, outdoor sex, angst, taboo-ish relationship, lotsss of pet names, unprotected sex, nothing rlly kinky or freaky, no mentions of y/n, reader insert, everyone is 20+.
.ᐟ.ᐟ : i just love beau i'm sorry
The Fourth of July, the damn biggest event in your neighbourhood, and your dad was the one who hosted it every time.
Families gathered in your backyard, kids running around, neighbourhood moms bringing their homemade goods, and all you had to do was sit back, smile, and tell the silly stories about college. It was pretty easy, and your boyfriend sitting beside you made it easier.
You’re sitting at one of the tables scattered around the yard, giggling to your boyfriend about something, his hand on your thigh, rubbing where the edge of your denim shorts stops. You met him in college, and he’s currently the talk of every grandma who comes by you, immediately accusing the young guy of being your future husband.
Yeah, right.
Your dad stands by the grill, quietly cursing to himself, and it catches your attention; he’s messing around with the propane tank beneath it, mumbling something about being out. He’s clearly stressed out; the entire neighbourhood’s stomach depended on him serving something.
Slipping off the lawn chair, you hurry to your dad’s side, and he turns to you.
“Dad, what’s going on?” you ask, eyes glancing at his struggle, then back at the kids behind you, asking their parents when the food will be done.
“Left the new friggin’ propane tank in the garage,” he groans, peeking up at you through a wrinkled brow. “You don’t mind grabbin’ it, do you, honey?” he asks, giving you a nervous-needy smile.
“No–no, I don’t mind,” you mumble, shaking your head and glancing at your boyfriend, who should be the one grabbing it, but he acts like he doesn’t notice. You roll your eyes.
You bypass the parents and kids, go through the side gate of the house, and head to the front yard, then to the garage.
“Kiddo,” a familiar, deep voice drawls behind you, and you quickly turn around, seeing him, in all his stupid cowboy glory; Beau Arlen.
He stands in your driveway, a grin curling at his lips, his beard untrimmed and unforgiving, his green eyes roving over your body, his hair messy, strands falling over his forehead. How the hell has this man babysat you before?
“Sheriff Arlen,” you say in disbelief, not having seen him in about three years, and his grin widens.
“C’mon,” he laughs with a shake of his head, taking long strides towards you. “You use’ta call me Uncle Beau, and now I’m Sheriff Arlen?” he asks, tilting his head to the side.
“It’s–it’s just been so long,” you stutter, shaking your head as he approaches. “Like… not since I went off to college, type of long,” you laugh, finally smiling.
“And ya’ missed me that entire time, yeah?” he teases, lifting his hand to ruffle your hair. “C’mon, give me a hug,” he says, not even offering; he just opens his arms, and you naturally find your way into his.
It’s not the same as when you were twelve, and he hugged you to calm you down after you fell off your bike.
He’s all firm and muscular now, warm and thick, his cologne wrapping you up just like his arms, and his large hands rest against your back, pressing into the white cotton of your shirt. It’s a longer hug than usual, gently squeezing your frame.
“Cannot believe the size of ya’,” he says, looking you up and down. “Remember when you were jus’ a little thing, could fit in my arms,” he shakes his head, looking back at your height.
“Yeah.. yeah, it’s been a while,” you agree, shyly backing up, and he adjusts his belt with one hand.
“Your daddy givin’ you trouble?” Beau asks, his grin still stuck on his face. “Even when you were off at college, still pissin’ me right off, callin’ me over and all that,” he laughs, briefly wetting his lips with his tongue.
“No… no, he’s been fine, everything has been fine,” you nod, and he huffs, resting his hands against his hips.
“Good… I’m glad,” he agrees, looking past you at the open garage. “Need help with somethin’, darlin’?” he asks, noticing you’re not in the backyard with everyone else having a good time.
“What on earth is taking you so long?” your dad suddenly blurts, stepping into the front yard to see you and Beau standing there, and he instantly drops the dad-mode he shifted into.
“Beau, finally, thought you were skippin’ this year,” your dad laughs loudly, instantly forgetting the conversation, leaving you to stand awkwardly there. You ignore the propane tank completely and walk back into the backyard to find your boyfriend again.
“Hey, babe,” your boyfriend grins as you return, and you cringe at the silly pet, giving him a small smile. “You mind if we leave before… like eight?” he shrugs, looking beside him as you sit down.
“Fireworks don’t even start until nine?” You furrow your eyebrows, staring at his boyish features twisting into an obnoxious glare.
“You wanna watch fireworks?” he laughs in disbelief, his mouth hanging open. “We have my car, babe… you know… maybe,” he teases, reaching over to pinch your waist, and you shift away, rolling your eyes.
“In your dreams,” you groan, crossing your arms, looking away, and sighing.
You watch as Beau enters the backyard; all broad and smiling, his strong hands carrying the tank. You swear you’ve never seen him this way, but it’s hard not to when everyone around him is fawning over him, and his jeans fit him a little too well. You look away when you notice him approaching.
“Beau,” you say softly when he reaches you and your boyfriend, and he glances between the two of you, suddenly eyeing the young man instead of you.
“And who’s this?” he drawls, his southern accent heavy.
“My boyfriend,” you nod, looking to him; he’s busy doing something on his phone, ignoring the Sheriff’s hand that’s currently hanging in the air, waiting for your boyfriend to shake it.
God, you want to crawl into a hole.
“Seems like a gentleman,” Beau says sarcastically, turning to you, and that’s when he finally looks up.
“Oh, hey,” your boyfriend mumbles, shoving his phone into his shorts. “You’re her uncle?” he asks, looking back at you.
“Close,” he shrugs, his thumbs resting in his belt as he stares down at the two of you. “She’s like m’daughter, ya’ hear?” he mumbles, and there’s a threat laced into that tone that makes you shift in the plastic chair.
“Yeah… I hear…” your boyfriend mutters, mostly confused, awkwardly looking away from the much taller man, whose eyes do not leave that poor son of a bitch.
“You havin’ fun, sweetheart?” Beau asks, switching his attention to you, and he looks at your shy body, curling into itself in the chair.
“Yeah,” you mumble with an unenthusiastic nod, and he knows you well, so he purses his lips.
“Why don’t ya’ come with me? I’ll make you somethin’ to eat,” he offers, waving you over, and you look to your boyfriend, who is currently flipping through something on his phone.
You hesitantly nod, but smile the minute Beau grabs your hand. It’s like you’re twelve again.
“Piece o’work, I’ll tell you that, darlin,” Beau mumbles quietly to you, still holding your hand as he walks towards the table filled with food others brought. “That boy… the hell are you thinkin’?”
“Shut up,” you mumble to him, laughing a little, and he grins at the way he’s made you laugh more than your boyfriend ever has.
“No… no, darlin, I’m serious,” he laughs along, stopping in front of the table, and he releases his hand from yours, gently resting it against the back of your arm. “Dumbest decision I’ve seen ya’ make… and I use’ta watch you go barefoot in ponds,” he shakes his head, clicking his tongue.
“He’s better when you get to know him,” you explain as Beau hands you a paper plate, and you reach for one of those sugar cookies that make your teeth rot. “He’s just… shy, awkward,” you defend, shrugging.
“Mmm…” Beau hums, giving you a knowing look as you shuffle down the long table. “We’ll see,” he shrugs, reaching over to add another sugar cookie onto your plate. He knows your taste buds more than you do.
After the two of you finish loading your plates with food, treats, and appetizers, Beau carefully walks you back to the table you were sitting at; two random people have taken the other spots, and your boyfriend stands there idly, realizing there are just two spots left.
“I don’t know what the fuck happened. I left to take a piss, and suddenly they’ve taken up the spots,” your boyfriend rambles on, and Beau cringes internally at the foul words leaving his mouth, and he glances at the disgust curling in your features.
You deserve better, and a mere 10-minute observation tells him everything.
Beau had been there before you could even remember; he was in the audience at your middle school graduation, watching you win award after award, and he even made it to your high school graduation, your GPA as high as ever. He couldn’t have been prouder of you. He braided your hair, tied your shoelaces, wiped your tears when boys picked on you, and now you were grown as ever, with a boy who did not deserve you.
“I got you, kid,” Beau suddenly chimes in, taking a seat in one of the chairs and immediately glaring as your boyfriend awkwardly takes the other.
Unfortunately for the poor kid, it plays into his plan.
You look between him and your boyfriend, suddenly noticing Beau patting his thigh, and your eyes widen.
“C’mon, it’ll be like y’er ten again,” he laughs, and you look at your boyfriend; back on his phone, completely oblivious to Beau asking you to sit on his lap.
You look at Beau, and he’s looking right up at you; those green eyes pour into yours, eyes crinkling in the corner from his gentle smile. You look back at your boyfriend again, then slowly turn around and lower yourself onto Beau’s lap.
“There’s m’girl,” he mumbles happily, leaning back in the plastic chair, one hand holding the plate, the other resting lightly against your hip. This feels a lot different from how it used to.
You glance down at your plate and realize your appetite is mostly gone; the pressure of Beau’s thick thigh between your legs is doing for you more than your boyfriend’s lousy thumb has ever done. You really want to die right now.
Your shaky hands pick at the food on your plate, lifting the sugar cookie to your mouth and taking a slow bite. You glance at your boyfriend, who is either oblivious or simply doesn’t care that you’re sitting on another man's lap. You sigh.
“Ya’ doin’ okay?” Beau draws quietly from behind you, and you turn your head slightly to glance at him; he’s looking right up at you, and the summer breeze stirs the stray strands of his hair that fall against his forehead.
“Yeah… yeah, of course,” you smile nervously, and Beau’s eyebrows furrow as he glances at your mouth.
“Hey, c’mere,” he mumbles, and you look around nervously, laughing at the way he lifts his hand. “Icin’ on your chin,” he explains, his thumb lightly wiping away the red-and-blue mess.
Beau smiles in satisfaction, looking up at you. Maybe he really does see you as the little girl he drove to school, but it’s hard to tell with the way he’s gently rubbing your hip with his free hand.
“Hey,” your boyfriend suddenly mumbles to you, nudging your shoulder, and he grimaces when he realizes the position you’re in; on Beau’s lap, his warm hand holding your hip.
“What?” you ask quietly, trying not to let Beau tune in to the conversation, but he already has a hand gently squeezing the soft skin beneath his palm.
“Too hot out, can we go to your bedroom?” he asks, his tone casual and carefree, glancing back down at his phone. Your cheeks burn red, knowing Beau obviously picked up on his implication.
“No… no, we can’t,” you mumble awkwardly, looking away from your boyfriend, who is huffing dramatically, shaking his head. You feel the embarrassment creeping up your neck and settling into your cheeks, all red and warm.
A silence settles around the table, and you shift on Beau’s thigh, looking down. You make the softest noise when you do, and he lightly taps the waistband of your shorts with his thumb, and you shift again.
Beau looks at you from behind; your hair draped down your back, the white cotton shirt glowing in the warm sun, and he has the strongest urge to slide his hand right up the back of it. He holds back and shifts his hips in the chair, glancing at your dad, who occupies the barbecue.
“Ya’ havin’ fun, kid?” Beau suddenly asks you, and you look behind, seeing those eyes looking right back at you. God.
“Of course,” you say, smiling and nodding.
“I can get ya’ somethin’ to drink if y’er thirsty, or anythin’,” he offers, nodding towards the cooler packed with drinks. He taps your waistband again, watching your expression shift in real time.
“I’m okay,” you practically whisper, and he pats your hip in confirmation.
“Jus’ makin’ sure, baby,” he drawls quietly, and you feel yourself melt onto his thigh, all soft and warm, and it’s not from the July heat.
By the time dinner is finished, the evening has fully settled in; the sun is setting, and it begins to cool down, soft lanterns lighting up the backyard, kids already with sparklers. You’re still on Beau’s lap, the half-eaten plate in front of you, while he chats with another neighbourhood dad, all the while you occupy his thigh.
“Babe, hey,” your boyfriend says, and your eyebrows furrow as he stands up, looking down at you. “Gonna head out now… something going on with my friend,” he lies, gesturing toward the backyard gates.
“What?” you ask in confusion, standing up too, and Beau naturally guides you with two hands, not breaking away from the conversation he’s having with the man beside him. “Fireworks are in like, forty minutes, you said you’d stay.”
“Yeah… but, you know, there’s booze at this party,” he laughs, acting like you’d understand his reason for dipping early; his friends are having a better party, with alcohol.
“Yeah… but you said you’d stay for fireworks, and then you were going to sleep over,” you explain more, shaking your head. “My parents don’t care if you sleep in my bedroom.”
Beau raises an eyebrow, glancing at the two of you as you have a light argument, then returns to talking about the things Sheriffs usually talk about.
“Yeah, like we’ll have sex,” he scoffs, and you grimace at how loud he’s talking.
“Stop,” you mumble through gritted teeth, and he rolls his eyes, looking over his shoulder.
“I’m just saying,” he waves you off, looking around the yard, crossing his arms.
“Fine, then go,” you say, dismissing him, not wanting to beg someone to stay who clearly doesn’t want to. “Just… I don't know, text me when you get there,” you shrug, looking away from him and back at Beau.
Your boyfriend scoffs and turns away from you, slipping out of the backyard and bypassing the kids running around with their moms. You sigh, taking a seat where your boyfriend once sat instead of Beau’s thigh, and groan quietly to yourself.
There’s a beat of silence before Beau chimes in, leaning forward a little, resting his forearms on his thighs.
“Kid,” he mumbles quietly, clearly seeing that interaction. “You doin’ okay?”
“I’m fine,” you say quickly, raising your eyebrows at Beau in defence, and he sighs quietly, realizing he had missed most of the angry young-adult stage.
“No, you’re not, darlin’,” he drawls just as quietly, and before you can snap back, he reaches over and gently pats your knee, shutting you up.
“Remember when you were jus’ a lil girl?” Beau starts, blinking slowly, gazing at the side of your face. “I use’ta drive you aroun’ whenever you got upset, to calm ya’ down,” he explains, and you slowly turn your head to realize what he’s offering.
“Right now?” you ask in surprise, remembering all the times he had you sit in the passenger’s side, driving you around town, buying you ice cream, and sneaking you back in when your parents were tucked away in bed.
“Right now,” he agrees, and you quickly smile, standing up from the chair, and he’s standing too, with a soft groan, quickly remembering he’s pushing fifty and can feel it in his knees.
Beau lightly takes your hand again, and you pass your dad, who is currently hunched over, messing around with fireworks in a way that would make anyone who knew anything about them have a panic attack. You don’t bother interrupting him.
Stepping into the front again, and you immediately spot it; the red Land Rover, years old, much too outdated, but it fits him perfectly; the rugged sheriff, spending his days off drinking. You remember it like it was yesterday and quickly head to the passenger side.
Beau watches you run across the lawn and towards it. He remembers hoisting you up, grabbing your waist, and you’d giggle when he buckled you in, wide eyes staring up at him, and now here you were, grown as ever without needing his help.
“Hold y’er horses,” Beau laughs as he jogs across the road, finding his way into the driver’s side.
“I remember all of this,” you smile, gazing at his dashboard, the CDs discarded in the centre console, bands and artists you didn’t know. He had a knack for that.
“M’sure ya’ do,” he smiles, quickly firing up the engine and rolling down the windows, immediately taking you down the street.
The summer breeze blows through the windows, your hair messy and blown out, and he can do nothing but watch you; streetlights occasionally dust across your pretty features you’ve grown into, and your teeth aren’t crooked anymore, all fixed by braces, taken off before he could notice them. He’s in awe of you and what you’ve become, and he knows that kid doesn’t deserve an ounce of your time.
You and Beau speed into the town square, and most people know his vehicle by now–dark red and completely vintage, and they smile as he drives by, occasionally waving. You forgot just how renowned he was in this small town, and you suddenly feel lucky for getting this time with him.
You glance back at the sudden loud sound; fireworks are going off in the background, being lit from your backyard, though you don’t care at all. You’re currently with Beau Arlen, soft music on the radio, the summer breeze in your hair, and all he can do is eye you. The pretty thing you are.
“Ya’ wanna watch em’?” Beau asks over the radio, reaching over to gently rub your shoulder when he notices you’re focused on the bright explosions behind you.
“You don’t mind?” you ask softly, and he instantly shakes his head, quickly making a sharp turn down a back dirt road, taking you both out of town.
“Use’ta take you here when you were just a lil’ girl,” Beau smiles with a slow nod, and he’s pulling up to a small clearing in a cornfield. “You loved it–the fireworks, watching them all damn night,” he explains further, taking a left into the driveway that leads to nowhere.
Beau parks the Land Rover on the dirt road, and you instantly hop out, taking his hand in yours as he guides you a little farther down the endless dirt driveway. Crickets buzz around you, and it’s still as humid as ever, but he’s taking you to the light clearing right beneath the stars. He’s always known this place.
With a thud, the two of you land on the hard ground, and he smiles at you, immediately wrapping his arm around your shoulders, keeping you close and into his side. You lean into him, resting your head onto his shoulder, and he doesn’t even hesitate before pressing a gentle kiss against the side of your head. Warm and grounding.
“Listen,” Beau starts quietly, and you lift your head up, turning it to face him. “That boy…”
“Beau,” you cut him off, biting your lip with a light tilt of your head.
“C’mon, baby,” he scoffs, shaking his head and lifting a hand to brush your hair back. “Smartest lil’ thing I’ve ever known, and y’er with him?” he asks in disbelief, eyes widening.
“Who should I be with, then?” you ask, raising your eyebrows, but you’re smiling now, and he lets his hand cup your jawline, a warm thumb brushing your cheekbone.
“You tell me,” Beau nods, his eyes narrowing, his tongue swiping over his teeth.
“No,” you refuse softly, shaking your head, and he finds it the most endearing thing he’s ever heard in his life.
Beau pauses and gazes at you, green eyes darker in the nighttime, and he slowly leans in, and you hold your breath. He doesn’t kiss you, no, he merely lets his forehead rest against yours, noses innocently brushing, and you’re still not breathing.
He leans in just a bit more, breathing quietly against your lips, and his tongue barely slips out, running over your lower lip, which is drooping from your mouth being agape right now. You exhale, and that’s when he finally leans in, pressing his lips against yours.
A soft sound slides by your lips, slipping right into his, and Beau doesn’t hesitate to carefully slide his long fingers in the back of your hair, long fingers curling into your strands, tugging, and you pull back, moaning softly at the grip. You’ve never been treated like this.
“Baby,” Beau breathes out at your reaction, staring at the way you’re already melting, breathing heavier. “He never touch ya’ like this, yeah?” he asks, and you quickly shake your head.
He immediately kisses you again, pressing his warm lips right into yours, tugging even harder to get that sound out of you again–a soft moan breaking out of your mouth and right into his. He’s basking in it, the feeling of you finally experiencing something, instead of just serving some stupid boy.
You’re kissing back sloppily, not used to being kissed properly. You lift your hand and gently hold the side of his face, his light beard pressing into your palm, and you slide your hand down, resting it against Beau’s chest, and he grins into the kiss.
You pant softly as he carefully maneuvers you, slowly but surely moving you to lie on your back, right against the dirt ground, and you whimper, and the thought of your shirt getting dirty.
Beau is nudging his way between your thighs now, gazing down at you; eyes wide, and soft lips parted and glistening in the mix of your saliva, and he swears this is the prettiest he’s ever seen you.
He moves down against, this time lightly kissing your jaw and then down the side of your neck, mouthing at the warm skin–he’s quick and feverish, breathing heavily, running on pure adrenaline, and your head is tipped back, gazing at the darkened sky and stars.
“Beau,” you moan softly as he lightly bites into where your neck meets your shoulder, and you grip his shoulder, squeezing. “Someone–someone is gonna see us,” you plead quietly.
“M’know this place like tha’ back of my hand, darlin’,” Beau mumbles into your neck, his hand briefly sliding down, long fingers finding the button of your shorts. “You trust me, dont’cha’?” he whispers, pulling back to look down at you.
You hesitantly nod, and he’s carefully unbuttoning your denim shorts, unzipping them. You gasp quietly when he lets them open, and he takes a look at your underwear; that’s when the guilt slips in, but he’s too far gone to stop now. You don’t even want him to.
“Jesus Christ, baby,” he whispers, lifting his hand to rub the side of his jaw as he shakes his head. “Prettiest thing ever,” he shakes his head again, fingers hooking into the denim waistband, and you whine.
“Beau,” you whisper again, and he looks up at you, his eyes narrowed. “I… I’ve always wanted this,” you admit quietly and nod, and he practically groans at your admission.
Beau curses quietly under his breath, breathing heavier now, clearly affected by your sweet words.
“Good, baby, that’s good,” he nods, reaching downwards, tapping the side of your hip, and you instinctively lift them, and he doesn’t hesitate to slide your underwear down with your jean shorts.
Beau leans back on his haunches, eyes blown out at the sight of you; spread out on the dirt ground, hair splayed behind you, wetter than you’ve ever been in your damn life–the pathetic sex you have with your boyfriend doesn’t compare.
“My God,” he mumbles in awe, glancing down between your thighs, and his jaw ticks; he sees the slick gathering, and he doesn’t hesitate to slide his hand down, two long fingers gathering it.
You moan softly the minute he touches you, head tipping back, and he quickly realizes how neglected your body is.
“He never touches ya’ does he?” Beau asks, referring to your boyfriend, who is off at some party, oblivious. “He don’t deserve a second with ya’, baby,” he shakes his head, shifting further between your legs.
You whimper, your white sneakers digging into the ground beneath you, and he lightly slides a free hand up your shirt, the other one mercilessly exploring your folds; he’s just touching around, almost analyzing. Your head is tipped back, mouth agape, breathing ever more heavily.
“He don’t know how to fuckin’ touch you,” he practically groans in disgust, his thumb immediately pressing onto your clit. “Can’t fuckin’ do anythin’ for my girl,” he growls this time, rubbing in quick, even circles.
You moan louder than you ever have–you didn’t think you could, not with the way you’ve been touched before; your back arches and your hips stutter, a small hand reaching to wrap around Beau’s strong forearm.
“Yeah? M’makin’ you feel good? Better than he ever could, huh?” Beau sneers, pressing harder than ever, and you feel every nerve in your body twitching and igniting. Dear God.
“Yeah–oh, my gosh, yeah,” you pant out, whining through a bitten lip, feeling the cool earth ground beneath you. It’s firm, keeping you somewhat grounded.
“This is all you ever should feel, sweetheart,” he mutters, watching your eyes practically rolling back into your head. “Sucha’ shame you’re datin’ some loser.”
“Sorry–I’m sorry, Beau,” you whine, feeling him picking up the quick circles, only to pull back, immediately going towards his leather belt.
“Don’t apologize for nothin’,” Beau says, quick fingers undoing the clasp, the soft clink clattering amongst the crickets. “Jus’ upsettin’ you’ve never been fucked properly.”
Your eyes widen at the vulgarity dripping from each word, and you glance down; he’s hard as ever, a prominent bulge right at the front of his denim jeans, thick and throbbing. He notices the look on your face and scoffs.
“Lemme’ guess,” he croons, letting his belt hang open as he pops open a button. “Doesn’t compare to ma’size either?” he practically laughs, his zipper following suit, and your eyes practically pop out of your damn head when his large hand wraps around himself, pulling it out of his boxers.
“No… no, not at all,” you shake your head in disbelief, helplessly staring at the way Beau is stroking himself, long fingers careful, his thumb rubbing the tip, and your legs fall open further, an invitation.
“Could tell,” Beau ticks his head, nudging further in between your thighs, his free hand resting on your bare knee. “Squirmin’ around like a worm on ma’knee… knew right then and there that no man has ever pleased ya’ in y’er life,” he shakes his head, and you whine at the call out.
“No… no, don’t get all shy on me,” he laughs, shifting closer, aligning himself with your entrance, just a slight pressure. “It’s me… jus’ me,” he coos, and you bite your lip.
Beau doesn’t hesitate to rock forward, pushing in without a single ounce of care in the god damn world–he just wants to make you feel better, wants to make sure you know what it’s like to be fucked by an actual man, and not some douche who uses you like a living breathing sex doll.
You cry out the minute he’s in fully. You didn’t know sex was supposed to feel like this; pure fullness and pleasure, your body instantly clenching around Beau, tightening and constricting, and he tips his head back, groaning aloud.
“Fuck, no man deserves this,” he groans out, one hand now holding your hip, the other one gently spreading your thighs. “So.. fuckin’ tight, baby,” he pants, not even in disbelief.
You whine, feeling him push even deeper, and your head is tossed back, right in the dirt beneath you, and he instantly is thrusting, gripping your hips tighter than he can even think.
“Beau,” you moan louder into the night air, feeling the light breeze against your bare thighs, the soft echo of fireworks crackling behind the two of you. “Beau, oh, my gosh,” you cry.
“M’right… right here,” Beau grunts, each word punctuated with a hard, deep thrust, sending your body rocking. “M’got you… gonna make you feel.. So good, so deservin’ of feelin’ good.”
You’re seeing stars, and it’s not the one in the sky; it’s behind your closed eyes; a burst of light and warmth, and all you can feel is Beau Arlen, back and forth, deep, consistent thrusts. You can’t even think; all you can do is mewl and whine, still gripping his forearm.
“Look at ya’,” he mumbles, staring at that pretty face, all flushed and sweaty from the summer heat. “He ain't seen ya’ like this, never will,” he taunts, relentlessly thrusting.
The mere thought of your boyfriend being unable to do this is motivating the ever-living life out of Beau, and he feels he can’t stop himself as he moves deeper and deeper, watching your head loll back, limbs limp and blissful.
“Gonna look so.. So pretty, filled with me, so pretty,” Beau mumbles, his head tipping back, groaning and grunting, just thinking of filling you up, stuffing you, not your stupid boyfriend.
You’re just taking it and taking it, whining loudly, your voice suffocated by the emptiness of the field you’re currently lying in.
“He ever cum in y’er pretty tummy? Ever make ya’ all full and warm?” he asks, and you’re shaking your head, knowing you never let him despite taking birth control every fucking day.
“Yeah… yeah, savin’ yourself for me? My girl… my sweet girl,” he mutters through gritted teeth, and he’s it; the twitch in your hips, the tensing of your chest, and he knows you’re close. First time in your life you’ve ever been close.
“First time cummin’ too,” Beau comments, and you whine louder, nodding to his words. “Pathetic boy he is, gonna teach him a fuckin’ lesson or two,” he’s getting himself angry, and it’s turning you on more than you’d like.
You feel it; the tightness, the knot, the coil that has your toes curling into your shoes, and your back arches, and Beau watches it, and feels it; warmth all over him, the loudest sound you’ve made in your entire life slipping by your lips. He swells with pride, and it only pushes him further and further.
Beau still fucks into you despite you finishing, and he’s just as close now, his hand pushing down on your hip, applying pressure, and he’s breathing heavier and heavier, eyes closing in bliss as he feels it build, and build. He cums without a single warning; just a loud groan, and a warmth blooming deep inside of you.
“Atta girl… mhm, stuffin’ you,” Beau groans, his other hand resting right beside your head, holding himself up, panting heavily, letting himself just stay pushed inside of you. He wants you to feel it, every inch, the warmth.
“Only… I can ever do this to ya,” he mumbles, out of breath, shaking his head. “He don’t deserve… any of you, baby, nothin’,” he rambles on, just groaning and grunting, refusing to pull out.
You’re blissed out, head still tipped back, eyes fixed on the stars above you, glowing and bright. You can hear the fireworks still, mixed with his breaths and pants and groans, and you’re completely out of it, just high on him.
“My girl,” Beau finally claims, fingers pressing into your hip.
You’re not sure how you’ll explain the bruises in the shape of Beau Arlen’s fingertips on your hips to your boyfriend.
ᨳଓ deans sleeping, you had been laying there before wheres deans arms are now, you needed to get up and use the bathroom, you came back and couldn’t resist taking a picture .
Hi! First time anon, long time follower :) I was wondering how Dean Winchester would express the cuteness aggression he feels towards his bratty girlfriend 💗
dean winchester with a bratty girlfriend? and cuteness aggression? hmmm..
to be honest, i think it'd be one of those things where he uses it also like a punishment? but also not? hear me out. please. lol.
such as his girl getting mouthy with him in the bunker or on a hunt, and it's just soooo easy for him to just take her face between his hands, squeezing her cheeks– all in order to get her to shut up. because lord knows she stopped listening to him (and reason) a long time ago. basically almost rewarding her bad behaviour by making her think it's cute, even if the point is to physically shut her up. if anything, he's doing it to embarrass her; he enjoys watching how she gets all pouty about it. at least the brattiness has stopped.. for now.
also. would not put it past this man to bite his girlfriend. partly in a "look at what belongs to me, and me only," way of marking her up, but also a "fuck you're so cute and hey i don't exactly wanna be done for cannibalism so i'll settle for this," way. he enjoys how she gets all whiny about it, but also melting under his affection because she actually likes it. the soft bites that make her all fuzzy in the head, knowing that this is exactly one of his ways of getting her in bed with her panties off and her legs spread.. well. anyone would be an idiot to fight that.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ It's a brittle winter in 1943 when you're stationed within the borders of occupied Alsace, France. Time and time again, you've proven yourself to be a worthy operative for America's OSS, but as the conflict worsens, your espionage carries greater risk.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Currently, you're posing as an heiress, a cover that provides security and repute. Your objective is simple: infiltrate Gestapo circles and intercept German troop movements for the Allies. How you go about collecting the intelligence is entirely your prerogative.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Tonight, you carry transit documents sewn into the lining of your coat. You're to meet an Allied courier at a railway depot on the outskirts of the sector to deliver it. Already, an icy foreboding grips you, but wariness turns to dread the moment you reach the rendezvous point.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ The bodies of a German garrison litter the frozen ground around you, thoroughly massacred. Your hand slips down to retrieve your handgun when a voice calls from across the tracks. "You've been burnt, kid. And I just saved your life." The wind has picked up, and from a curtain of flurries emerges a man, American by the looks of it, dressed in a stylized combat uniform.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ You recognize him instantly from the papers. The black-and-whites don't do the roguish glint in his eyes any justice, but it's him all the same. "Soldier Boy," you breathe, and he responds with a curt nod. When he approaches, you get a closer look and see blood under his eye. "You're hurt," you say, reaching out your hand. He turns his cheek with a sly grin. "Ain't mine," he reassures you. Then it's his turn to reach for you. With one hand, he swoops you forward by the waist and catches your lips for a kiss. "Small token for saving your life," he explains. "We're not square, but it's a start."
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ After that night, your run-ins with Soldier Boy become frequent. Luckily, your cover wasn't blown as you had suspected. Over the course of eighteen months, you continue to deliver intel to the Supe. You meet under ravaged rooftops and yellowed farmland, slowly forming a bond that surpasses geopolitical interests.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ You've both been marked by brutality, and it softens the space between you. Soldier Boy finds himself falling for you, and in a breath, accepts your tenderness if it means forgetting his duty for a few days at a time. One Sunday morning, you find yourselves waking to golden hour in a gutted French monastery. You've stolen hours to lay together on wool blankets caked in dust. He makes love to you under the collapsed roof of that deconsecrated ruin, finding relief in the softness of your skin and the sounds that fall from your lips.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ When you fall asleep on his chest, he studies the rise and fall of your breaths and is reminded of life. His mind's eye raises a partition until his kill count becomes an abstract value. When his hand slips between your legs and you stir, he's simply a man, and that's enough.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Twenty months after having met you, Soldier Boy is stationed in occupied Belgium. The campaign cuts off all contact between you for six weeks, and he resolves that the next time he lays with you, he'll collect a photograph to keep for long stretches in the future.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ During his final week in Belgium, Soldier Boy learns that you were deployed to a liberated French sector when a German aerial bomb devastated the area. The blast leveled a town to rubble and killed dozens. Your name was among the casualties. Though he hadn't been there to protect you, the finest parts of him died right along with you. He listens to the briefing with a vacant stare, wishing for rage to envelop his grief.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ In the weeks that follow, Ben stops caring about the ultimate outcome of the conflict. He takes orders from Vought and becomes a tool, consistently delivering unethical slaughter. The press praises his grit and history writes him down as a true patriot after the war, but he doesn’t care. It doesn't matter anymore.
⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Decades later, when muddy battlefields have long grown over with wild grass and the war is relegated to school curriculums, Ben remains haunted. He never did have the chance to get your photograph, so one-night-stands become canvases for your memory. In the dark, he sees your eyes on every lover’s face, and when they cry out and orgasm beneath him, his chest constricts with a familiar grief. His mind will only let him hear the catch of your breath from that harsh winter in 1943.
✦Read on AO3! - Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist✦
Rating/Warnings: E for swearing, mental health issues, and sexual content.
Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, modern!AU, no y/n or description for reader, roommate!Dean, angst, fluff.
Mini-Series Summary: The first time you see him, you fall for him. Easy and quickly. But Dean quickly becomes your best friend, and you're not willing to risk that. Is he?
✦Author's Note: Based off of a previous one-shot you can find here, extended into a full series! You can read both, but I recommend you read this one first if you don't want spoilers. Enjoy!✦
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